The Way a Child Sees
by MorgaRoths
Summary: Several years after the book, Erick takes in his young niece.
1. Chapter 1

1

Autumn in Paris was crisp, perhaps colder than the year before. That Sunday, people pulled their scarves a little tighter, hoping to avoid illness. The late afternoon was tinged with a regretful shade of rusty gold.

In the park couples strolled, some old, some young. Families rambled, or scurried to a visit or service. Conversations were loud, soft, silly, sensible, and for some there was none at all.

One couple stood out from the rest, for no reason in particular. It was a man and child, nothing more. He was tall and thin, dressed all in black, save for the blue scarf he had buried his face it. The wide brimmed hat cast an inky shadow, and only the eyes burned out, gazing only briefly at the world and returning to the little girl at his side. She skipped along happily, keeping up with his lanky stride. Her little coat was grey, and the mismatched buttons told of an active life. Her stockings were white, quite neat, and the little shoes had been laced correctly. Apparently, they had been newly shined, for she would pause every few moments to peer down at them and make faces to the reflection. Her own little red scarf and cap clung determinedly to their mistress, in spite of her uneven walk, and her red mittened hand gripped the long, black gloved one contentedly.

"You can't see the spot where I kicked the shelf at all now," She piped excitedly, "and wasn't the bootblack nice and careful to get out all my scuffs?"

"Yes, Katrina, he was." The deep, rich voice replied, lifting her arm to help her jump a puddle.

"Papa's sister doesn't like bootblacks. She makes fun of them and says they steel and cheat." Katrina looked up, her brown eyes seeking farther insight into the character of bootblacks.

The gentleman tugged her to his right side, and stuck his left hand in a pocket. "Some, perhaps. But I would say they have done less wrong in their lives than I."

Katrina furrowed her brows, and bit a rosy lip. "Does doing less wrong than other people make you good?"

An elderly couple on a bench overheard the remark and smiled knowingly. Leave it to a child, their eyes said, to ask a question the wise can't answer.

"No, pride and arrogance about your goodness is a sin." The man said certainly. "Even piety can be the devil's mean to an end. But," he raised a long finger in warning, "do not abandon goodness because it could be an uncertain road. Leaving decency behind is death of the soul for sure."

A wind picked up Katrina's hair and pushed it around her face, obscuring the frown. The hair was a living thing in its own right, neither black, brown or red, but all three forced to occupy the same space. Had it been the gentle curls or compliant straight hair fashion demanded it would have been called unusual, perhaps attractive. But it was long, tight curls that refused to untangle and escaped every net, braid, bun, or ribbon. It frizzed and struck out, defying a world of popular notions and ideals.

They paused outside a bakery, and the man released her hand, handed her a few francs, and sent her inside for some rolls. Katrina's Sunday treat every week was a dozen of her favorite food to take home for supper, and her guardian seemed pleased to fulfill such a simple wish. When her purchase had been obtained, she skipped out, holding the brown bag carefully in one hand and reach for his arm with the other.

"Don't they smell nice?" She asked, looking earnestly into his shaded face. "Don't they smell like heaven?"

"I've never smelt heaven, so I wouldn't know," was the answer, but the tone was gentle. He rested a hand on her shoulder, and they walked at an easy pace towards the Opera. "Faust plays tonight, if you wish to hear it." He said to the rapidly cooling air.

Katrina nodded, her mind suddenly divided between Gounod, Mozart and bread. "Will they ever play The Magic Flute?"

"If they can find a decent singer," he spat, recalling the dreadful performance comprised entirely of students. It could have been salvaged, had there been any guidance been given to the ambitious musicians, but instead became a success off of embarrassment rather than the potential skills displayed. Sadly, many of the singers had been hired by the opera to understudy roles. It was cheap, but annoying if a lead became ill or had a crisis. Most of the newer musicians were poorly trained and could not sustain their notes or pitch. But, he conceded sadly to himself, he was overly sensitive.

Katrina beamed up at him, and the around to the world in general. Shadows could touch her, but never change her. Her parents had died in a boating accident the year before. Her mother, ever practical, had instructed her daughter carefully in what to do should they pass. Katrina had listened to the news her neighbors brought, and then looked at the bodies of her parents, which had been left uncovered by a foolish and insensitive villager. Being assured she was an orphan, she walked to the desk, wrote to her uncle, and after posting it, burst into inconsolable tears.

For weeks, she was sure the brother of her Mama would not answer. Katrina lived in fear of being placed with her father's sister. It was not fear of ill treatment, but of being ignored and belittled.

Auntie had just married a widower with three children, and had had a baby of her own. She had never been fond of Katrina, and expressed a dislike for her mother and her mother's family. Now that she had risen in the world somewhat, Auntie would be more than derisive to her niece.

The day of the funeral, a tall, thin man dressed in black with his face shadowed arrived. All standing beside the open graves murmured in subdued confusion. He stood by in utter silence, and walked back to their cottage like a dark omen. Auntie had insisted that Katrina be ready to leave the next morning, so as to arrange for the rapid sale of the house and furniture, so Katrina slipped into her parents room to pack away a few trinkets to remember them by before Auntie took inventory. She ran her fingers over the box where her parents kept their special things, and wondered if she could hide it at the bottom of her valise.

"So, you are Katrina." A large, deep, elegant voice said behind her. Turning, Katrina saw the stranger from the funeral. Nodding, she walked a few steps closer and he knelt to get a better view of her face. "You look like your mother."

A hope began to stir in the child's heart. "Are you my uncle from Paris? Did you get my letter?"

"Yes to both, child. I have been listening to your aunt downstairs, and I think your mother's wish I keep you is the best one. Do you know what your father thought?"

"Papa said he wished Auntie would be different, he said she had no real heart for the young, though I'm not really sure what he meant." She paused, and peered into the shadows where a face should be. "Are you truly my Mama's brother? Am I really going to live with you and not that horrid woman?"

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a few letters, and handed them to her. He tiny hands held them, most of them where in her mother's writing. One was the letter she had sent. Her face brightened, hopefully, and then fell. "Oh, but Auntie is going to sell the house and everything in it."

"The house cannot be helped. But I think I can handle it in a better way. Come," he held out a gloved hand, "let us go speak to your Auntie."

As they went out to the open part of the house where the table had been pushed away from the hearth, and chairs now lined the walls, Katrina held his hand tightly. People offered condolences, and she responded with thank yous, not sure what else to reply. Auntie was bending over a meat pie, when the man spoke.

"I am Sarah's brother. I believe you are Jean's younger sister?"

She eyed him with open scorn. "Yes, and after today you are not welcome here."

"Ah, but I am. As legal guardian of Katrina, I decide who will come and who will go. See in these letters, Sarah wrote them, and they will be validated, but I recommend you spare yourself the embarrassment of admitting to destroying the will she mentions."

Auntie's face flushed with anger and hate, but she held her tongue. Before the other mourners there was nothing to say. The man had proof, and was obviously used to using the tools at his disposal. He said in a low tone only they could hear, "I will not be as cruel or foolish as to deny you and your niece a parting. Your sister did leave a few items in your care, and I'll see they are delivered. Outside of that, you had better not press my limited goodwill. Within the week, you will have seen us for one of the last times. A fact I think should please you."

With that cool and unobserved speech, he walked away, Katrina still holding his hand.

The rest of week was spent as he had predicted, in packing the belongings that Katrina owned for travel to Paris, and arranging for the sale of the house to a newlywed couple looking for a good home. As promised the items Sarah and Jean had left to Auntie were sent to her, along with a few gifts Katrina thought would sooth her relative's temper. The uncles forbid her to give up a certain broach she would have sent along as well, but in every other thing she was given her head.

On the day they left, Auntie came to say good-bye. She was civil to Katrina, even giving her a lace collar as a present. However, when she faced the man, her eyes burned.

"I pretend no love where there is none to show, heaven knows it's true I've been hard to her and her mother. But hear this; if even a whispered word ever reaches me that she comes to any harm at your hands, I shall personally hunt you down and kill you myself, Erik. As revenge from her dead parents and her innocence, I shall exact a price."

He bowed, almost mockingly. "Dually noted, Madame." Without another glace one for the other, Erik loaded his new charge into the carriage, and they drove away.

"Look, they are preparing for the Masquerade, Uncle Erik! See, they are tying up banners and flags to be unfurled at New Years! I wonder why they don't wait for winter?"

Her voice pulled him back from remembrance, and he gazed at the workers on their ladders, braving the height for the sake of decorations. "It would be too cold then, child. Come, we must hurry if we are to eat a proper dinner before the overture."


	2. Chapter 2

2

The manager gazed at the letter on his desk, 'requesting' a payment for protection. It seemed to Jacques that he had inherited the ghost. For a time there had been peace, and then a year ago, the letters had begun. The multifaceted tragedy of several years before had become gossip or talk for thrill seekers, and was lost to memory by the rest. Patrons of the opera might not have forgotten, but they did not speak of it. To his mind, it showed sense.

His letters were different from those of his predecessors. They helped him carry out his vision, and stabilize the shaken company, at a cost of course. It made no difference, as he had written in one of his replies; _as long as I remain manager, a privilege I paid dearly for already, and no one is physically injured, I can accept your terms, sir.__If you leave me in relative peace, I will return the favor and pay for your cooperation. _

Jacques sighed and slid the paper into his desk. He would see to it in the morning, after his duties of this evening were complete and he'd had some sleep. He glanced up as a woman entered the office. "Ah, Marie, I was beginning to think you'd run off with the tenor."

"I'd rather kiss a dancing monkey." She replied, her green eyes glimmering under the lamp. Her green silk dress was trimmed in black, and her red-blonde hair arranged in a neat roll. Her features were rather too sharp to be called pretty, but she carried herself well, and behaved as one who knew that she belonged precisely where she was. Handsome was what most would have called her. "What was that you were reading so attentively?"

"Nothing, just a bill. I wanted to be sure the amount was correct. Have you decided to come and sing for us, Mademoiselle? I would pay you well, and you should be treated in all ways like a goddess."

She smiled tightly, the wide, straight mouth moving in a practiced way. "Maybe. I will not refuse, but I will not accept. Not until after tonight's performance."

Jacques sighed knowingly as they moved from the office into the lobby. "You wish to see what you would be forced to work alongside every day." People had long since taken their seats, only a few remained and were hurrying to make their seats on time. Marie nodded, and her face softened a little. He knew that she would not like much of what she saw; her eyes were too practiced from years of performance to miss a single clue as to the people behind the production. He might as well bid farewell to the idea of a decent coloratura soprano.

A little girl skipped happily by, pausing to let them pass her. Jacques greeted her, remembering that she was one of the children employed in odd jobs around the building. She looked less rumpled than usual, in a pressed blue dress and lace collar. Her hair had been forced into a braid. "Good evening, monsieur, madame," She said politely, and curtsied.

Marie instantly liked the child, and bobbed her head in reply. "Good evening, dear. Are you alone?"

The child seemed surprised at the response, but shook her head. "No, my uncle is with me. I only forgot a program." She held the folded paper out to prove it. The earnest look in her eyes brought a real smiled to Marie's lips. She had never seen a more natural girl, unafraid and polite. It quite refreshed her.

"Do your parents not come to the opera?" Marie ignored Jacques' impatience, as she bent towards the girl.

A look of solemn confusion crossed the little girl's face, but she said evenly, "No, they can't. Even if they could, Mama never cared for opera."

"Ah, well," Jacques said, worrying over being late in front of his patrons, "I wish a good evening, child."

With that, she took off, up the stairs towards to boxes.

The performance was not spellbinding to anyone but Katrina. She sat in box five, on her uncle's bony knees, thoroughly enjoying herself. She could see the nice woman in green watching the event, her face like stone. Katrina wondered what had made her angry. Had she not had a good dinner? Had Monsieur Jacques quarreled with her? Courting couples fought sometimes, even in her village. Was this mystery woman courting Monsieur Jacques? Katrina didn't like that thought. Instead, she watched the daemons dance around the stage, wondering if Carl had complained about his hosiery before the program had begun.

As they people filed out of the theater, Katrina glanced up at her uncle. Sometimes, he would hide his face, and walk out with her, pretending they were leaving. Then, they would enter again through the secret grate. At other times, Katrina would walk out alone, finding her way through the cellars to the lake. Tonight, however, they went through the hidden passage in the pillar, and walked together by the light of a lantern.

"Did you see the woman with Monsieur Jacques?" She asked, after they had passed the point anyone could hear them.

"There were many women in his box, child."

"Not one of the stuffed geese, the woman in green."

"Yes, I saw her."

"She and Monsieur Jacques were going in together. She spoke to me, and was very nice. Do you know who she is?"

"No." He replied, and there was a moment of silence. Erick realized then that she had not been going to tell him, but was hoping for information. "I've never seen her before, Katrina. Perhaps she is a relative visiting."

She thought about that. "No, he wouldn't have any relatives that nice." Suddenly brightening, she asked, "Are you going to work on the organ part again tonight?"

"The violin part. The organ is finished."

She clapped her hands, "I can't wait to hear them. What are you going to do after that?"

He sighed. "Continue to work with you on your lessons. Which, I must say, have failed as of late."

"Oh, please don't send me to school! It's so much nicer working with you, Uncle Erick."

A smile touched his face, and he smoothed her wild hair. "No, child, I would not send you away as long as I can help you. But, the time will come when Uncle Erick will not be your only teacher."

"But he will be my favorite!" She cried, and latched onto his leg with all her might.

Stopping, he waited for her to release the grip that prevented him from walking. Even after a year, he was unused to open affections, and less so to the simple acceptance of his sister's child.

After leaving home, he had wandered for years before discovering he had a younger sister. Life had done its damage, and he decided not to care. Many years after that, Sarah had found him in Paris. She was engaged, and wanted to at least write from time to time. She may not have been overwhelmingly loving towards him, but she would do what a sister should. He had reluctantly agreed, and a handful of letters were exchanged, ended by Katrina's plea for comfort.

The loss of his own misguided love made him yearn for a real usefulness. He had slipped back to the opera, rearranged the labyrinth below, and rebuilt a haven. None were looking for him now, and he reasoned from Sarah's letters that the aunt was not kind. Perhaps he could help an orphaned, unwanted child, and better, the child of his own sister.

True, much he was not ready for. An enthusiastic, emotional girl child was often as much of a puzzle as an answer in his life. Yet, the child herself was ready for him, willing to love and learn. His stories were readily accepted, his lessons unquestioned. When spoken firmly, Erick's word was law. When kindly, or with humor, it was taken as she would have a brother's. He had yet to regret his choices.

Picking her up, he carried her the rest of the way to the house on the lake. She was asleep before they reached it.

Placing her gently in the bed they had moved in from her cottage, he walked back to the fireplace, and picked up his violin. Tuning it, he thought for a moment, then placed bow to string and worked on a counter melody to the organ part he'd just finished.

The organ played forceful and heavy notes, mournful, full of rage. It raced up and down so that whoever attempted the piece would be exhausted in hand and foot by the end. He wanted something just as mournful, but more at rest. He thought of the day Katrina had looked up at him from the foot of her parents bed, her sorrow evident, but her trust intact. Yes, that was what the violin would play, what the listeners would feel. Trust intact, hope for peace in the end.


	3. Chapter 3

3

A day in the opera house was rather simple for Katrina, though always full.

Every morning, she would rise and help her uncle with the housekeeping. Then, she would study her lesson for church the next Sunday, and whatever schoolwork Erick had settled on after that. Once he was satisfied with the results, they would go over to where the piano and organ stood side by side. She would sing for him, mostly simple folk tunes as befitted her young, undeveloped voice. He taught her proper diction, breath support, and laid the groundwork for when her voice would need to expand both up and down. He knew better than to drive or push her, thereby damaging any potential. Erick had learned the hard way with Christine that some treasures need to be polished and held lightly, for if gripped too hard too soon, they would break and vanish. The fault would then be your own.

Some mornings he worked on violin or keyboard technique with her, having her copy to paper the simple melodies he would play to her. Others, he would have her string notes together, or finish an unfinished line. After about an hour of these games and exercises he would send her on her way to the world above. She always went alone now, for the first thing he had ever taught her were the safe ways through the maze he had built.

When she arrived there, she would slip in among the bustle of daily life. Sometimes she helped sew costumes for the ballet or chorus. Other times she would help nail scenery together and paint it. If someone needed something, she would fetch it, or deliver something for them. Katrina found her greatest earnings came in the discreet delivery of letters from one admirer to another. She became the stealthiest courier outside of the espionage circles. Her knowledge of the tunnels and trapdoors came in quite handy in these jobs.

She learned how lonely some of the opera stars were, and how much they enjoyed talking of themselves to a willing ear. She discovered how arrogant some insignificant people were, and how humble the great could be. Sometimes, it worked the other way too. Erick only smiled when she told him this.

She loved to tell him the news every night, and answer his questions about the personal workings of the house. She refused however to tell him who sent letters to whom, as mail was always a secret. He would shake his head at that, but never pressed.

The Monday after Faust, she was running down the hall with a bolt of new fabric for the seamstresses. A woman called after her, and she stopped, peering over the horrid pink and green pattern to see who wanted her. It was the woman in green.

"Jacques said you would be by soon, I'm quite surprised he knew." The woman mused, looking over the girl before her. "What is your name?"

"Katrina, Madame." She answered, shifting her load.

"A good name for you. I am not Madame, I am Mademoiselle Marie D'Arcy. Jacques hired me for the season, and said I could choose anyone I wanted to be my maid. I was forced to dismiss my other."

Katrina guessed from the clipped tones that being dismissed my Mademoiselle D'Arcy was not something good. "I am sorry for your…lost maid. Perhaps I can find a girl you would like?"

The wide mouth started to smile a little. "I have already found one. Unless you are otherwise attached, I would like to have you."

The child gripped the fabric tighter, in a valiant effort to control the bulky mess. "Me? Mademoiselle, I know nothing of dressing anyone. I can just manage my shoes," and to prove her point, she held out her footwear for inspection. Marie laughed, unable to stop herself at the droll little person before her.

"I will teach you, and it shall be alright. Really, buttons and laces are what I most need help with. Everyone says you are to be trusted, and I could use someone who keeps their word right now." Her voice sounded sad at the end, but Katrina thought it was not something she meant to show. She wasn't lonely, no. She simply needed to be reminded that there were people untouched by the world, at least that's how Uncle Erick would have put it.

"If no one has an objection, I would try," Katrina said, "do I start today?"

Marie smiled brightly, her green eyes sparkling. "Yes, as soon as we rid you of your burden."

With that, she took the bolt from the girl and returned it to its proper place. Then, she took Katrina to her dressing room, full of unpacked trunks, bags and bundles. Everything had to be put away and the containers stored with each other like the nesting dolls Uncle Erick had given her for Christmas. Katrina's shyness wore away quickly, and she began asking questions as fast as Marie could answer them. All the carefully sewn dresses were objects of great worth, the furs, jewelry, ribbons, hair nets, make-up; the toiletries were examined curiously and inquired about at great length. Marie laughed after a strange discussion about the workings of a perfume bottle.

"Surely your mother had some of these things?"

"A few, but not perfume." Katrina answered. "Though she did have a lump of something good to sniff in one of the lockets Uncle Erick sent her."

"You never asked her these questions?"

"Oh, I asked her lots. So much Auntie told me I would talk myself into nothing. Mama would just shake her head and say that clever people learn to ask the right questions. But I haven't learned the right ones yet, as I'm not as clever as Uncle Erick."

Marie suddenly thought of something. "Why do you speak of your mother in the past, Katrina?"

"Because she is. In the past. She's dead." Katrina settled the bottles carefully on the dressing table. "She and Papa were boating and fell in the water."

"I'm sorry, child. I should not have pried."

"It's not a secret, not a letter or a special surprise. Why are you sorry?" Katrina looked at the loder woman curiously.

Marie took the little girl's hand and gazed at the brown eyes. "Because, I was afraid I had made you sad, asking about your parents."

"It's only sad sometimes." Katrina said, wondering why Mademoiselle was trying not to cry. "Don't worry, I'll see them in heaven."

"Ah, can you believe in a heaven, child? It won't last long, so enjoy it."

Katrina frowned at this strange woman. "Uncle Erick says there's a heaven. He doesn't like to talk about it, but he says there's a hell too. He says he's seen enough suffering that he knows there's got to be place it goes on forever. Why shouldn't there be a place for happiness to go on forever?"

"I don't know," Marie said, wondering if Katrina's uncle knew what kind of nightmares the child would be likely to have because of this topic. What kind of upbringing did an uncle who talked of eternal torment offer a little girl? Apparently there was no aunt to soften the influence, 'Auntie' having been firmly jousted by the way the girl spoke her name.

"Well, we've unpacked. Why don't you show me where I'll rehearse?" Marie asked, breaking the subject line.

Katrina took her new patroness' hand and began the tour of the opera building.


	4. Chapter 4

4

Several weeks had passed, peaceful and busy.

Katrina would happily divide her days between her uncle and Mademoiselle D'Arcy. Erick said little when she would pour forth her day's events to his stoic ears, but he gleaned many useful bits of information about the workings above.

Marie found Katrina to be a refreshing puzzle an amusement. The obvious devotion to her uncle, paired with her refusal to talk about where they lived or what her uncle's business was seemed odd, if not disturbing. She was cheerful, willing and learned rapidly. The child's retention of information was astounding. More than once the Prima Donna found her little maid waiting for her, lost in a book, not the kind most children would have read.

Perhaps most puzzling was the girl's matter-of-fact behavior concerning life. She had lost her parents, which lead to a deeper understanding, but her cool observations often startled the jaded woman.

"I wonder why people do that." Katrina said once during a planned shopping trip.

"Do what?" Marie asked, absently.

"Avoid things that make them uncomfortable. Like that woman over there. When the gentleman offered to help her carry her things, all she could see was his old hat. She wouldn't look at anything else, and was quite rude." The girl glanced up at the woman beside her. "What do you see first when you look at people?"

Marie thought about that for a moment. It had been a long time since she had wondered about her reasons behind her opinions of people. Her life had not been conducive to a gentle view of those around her. Since she had been twelve her world had existed solely for her art, the contracts, and the money. Now, she was facing a possibility of more, forced there by the question of a child. After a long time, she said slowly, "I don't see anything anymore. I just know whether I can trust their word or not. I knew I liked you from the moment I saw you, but that was it."

Katrina turned that over in her mind. "You think Uncle Erick doesn't look out for me. Are you going to try to take me away from him?"

The earnest voice caused Marie to stop and really look at the girl beside her. The huge brown eyes bored into the green. "Was it because I said he taught me to use a pistol, or the lasso? He did that because he wants me to be safe when he's not there, you know."

"I hardly think the Punjab lasso is a fitting part of a girl's upbringing. My concern is that I never see him, he never appears. If he is so careful, I should think he'd keep better track of his niece."

Katrina thought that over for a moment, and looked a little uneasy. "He can't be seen. He's…not like everybody else."

"Can't be seen? What in heaven's name do you mean?" Marie felt a stab of fear, the first she had felt for someone else in a long time.

"Not here. When you stop for your coffee?" Katrina pleaded, her eyes growing hopeful, as if the possibility of a confidante was a good thing.

Marie nodded, and they hurried through the rest of the shopping. The restaurant was new, cool white, grey and black graced the walls, and it was quiet. After she ordered a coffee for herself and a hot chocolate for Katrina, she folded her hands on the table. "Tell me. If you wish to remain with your uncle free of any attempt from me, then you must assure me you are safe."

Katrina folded her hands in imitation of her mistress, and leaned forward. "Uncle Erick was born with a different face. It scares people to see him. Mama said it was sad, because he has so many things that make him great. He won't let people see him because it makes bad things happen. He nearly got killed the last time, because of Christine. Because he was wrong too," the girl paused as the waiter brought their drinks.

"Uncle Erick came for me, and helped me. I'm happy with him. He's teaching me everything! You can't imagine what fun we had yesterday talking about poetry. I can't always understand the words, but he always explains. You see, Uncle Erick loves me. He's not gentle like Mama and Papa, but he really does care about what happens to me. If I had to leave him, I'd never stop crying." This sincere declaration made Marie smile a little.

"If he really is what you say," the Prima Donna said, "let me meet him. If I can hear him say that you are safe, and he will look after you, then not another word on the subject will pass my lips."

Katrina pushed her messy hair back from her face, and frowned. "Uncle Erick will have to say."

"Then tell Uncle Erick I'm concerned, and I have a great many lawyers willing to do my bidding."

For the first time, Katrina looked afraid. "You sound like Auntie. Why do you want to take me away? Have I done something wrong? Should I not have told you?"

The look in those eyes hurt Marie. She had overstepped, and tried to correct her mistake. "No, you were right to tell me. I promise, unless I really believe something is wrong, you won't be taken away. Nothing bad will come of this."

Katrina nodded, but held her tongue until they returned to the opera house.

She insisted that Marie follow her up to the roof, up the stairs from the lavish façade the public saw to a world of countless stairs and walkways. It was barren, but tingled with excitement. Katrina continued to until she burst through the doors and a dizzy Marie gratefully leaned against a statue. Katrina climbed up above her like a monkey and laughed.

"Uncle Erick brought me here a few days after we came to Paris. He told me how the statues had been made, and how they had been put here. He taught me not to be afraid of heights. See how far you can look?" Her tiny finger pointed over the roof tops and towards the setting sun. Her eyes shone, eager to grasp the world around her and make it into something new, beautiful.

"Katrina," Marie asked gently, "What do you see when you look at people?"

The child peered at the singer as if the thought were ancient. "I see what they are inside. People are all color and music and silence and sound, and they hurt and laugh. They just want someone to see them. That's what I see when I look at people."


	5. Chapter 5

5

Erick listened patiently as Katrina told her story in a rush of almost incoherent phrases and pleas for forgiveness.

"And why do you think I would let anyone take you?" He asked, the deep-set yellow eyes, gazing at her coolly.

Katrina shuffled a toe. "She said she'd find a lawyer."

Erick snorted. "Do you think a lawyer can prosecute a man he cannot find? Really, Katrina, this woman had nothing she can do." He lifted the child to his knee, and smiled. "No harm done but be careful whom you talk to about me in the future. Mademoiselle D'Arcy probably would do well to meet me. Perhaps it would be best if you took a letter to her for me first. Eh, Katrina?"

The girl nodded, her curls bobbing madly. "I can take her a letter, Uncle. I think she meant well, but I don't want to leave you."

"I shall tell her as much. Now, go to bed and I shall see what D'Arcy has to her name besides a reputed voice."

Katrina took the letter her uncle had written and left it on Marie's table the next morning. She felt much better, and even sang as she arranged her mistress' clothes for the day. Marie awoke to the little voice in the next room, and listened for a moment.

It was from "The Magic Flute", the Aria of the Queen of the Night. Quite difficult to sing, and full of terrifyingly high notes, the child's voice ran up and down, bouncing at the top almost joyfully, and dropping without any defect in quality. Hard enough for a seasoned singer with a full range, but for an untrained child with such a heavy voice, it should have been impossible. Marie came fully awake as she realized who had sung her awake, and what she was really hearing.

She grasped her robe and rushed to the next room, staring at the girl placing her toast and coffee on the table beside a letter. Katrina stopped when she saw Marie, and waited for further instructions. The Soprano sat down, feeling a little defeated. "Where did you learn to sing like that?"

"Uncle Erick."

Marie paused, unsure what to say. Every time she thought she had this uncle figured out, he presented another surprise. "What's this?" she asked, picking up the envelope.

"A letter, from Uncle Eric." Katrina vanished to the bedroom, presumably to see to her mistress' toiletries.

The letter was written in a heavy, childish hand, the scrawl of red filling the front with the soprano's name. The red skull seal at the back made her shudder. She ripped it open and read the following.

Mademoiselle D'Arcy,

My niece speaks highly of you, and I appreciate the effort and chance you have given her.

She says you are concerned over my apparent absence, and that you have hinted that she should be removed from my hands and placed in your care. Perhaps I should point out that you are only her mistress, not her family.

Katrina is all the family I have left, and I to her. To part us would be dreadfully cruel, though I admit; your fears are well founded. I am not a pleasant man.

My arrangements allow me to know what happens in the Opera, and what happens onstage. I will know if you mistreat my niece or threaten her in any way. I assure you, it will not be a pleasant day should that occur.

Erick.

So, she was found out. She gazed after the child longingly. She had always wanted to be a mother, but her less than perfect face and her rising career had removed that chance. Katrina was special; the girl had healed her lonely heart. Well, she would have to be content with the current arrangement.

The day went much as the others, though Marie was aware of a presence around her. She tried to ignore it, but couldn't. That wretched note!

Katrina went on blissfully, as if it were normal. When she saw Marie's tight lips, she reached up to touch her arm. "What's wrong? Can I help?"

"I'm fine, darling, I just feel…a little stifled."

The girl nodded. "Everyone feels that way here sometimes."

That was when the lead tenor walked in. He was beaming at the world in general, as if his affable face could make up for the horrid manners he constantly displayed. His eyes lit up at the sight of D'Arcy and Katrina. He had made it very clear that they were his hunting grounds. Katrina seemed oblivious to the fact, but Marie had started carrying a knife in her skirt.

He strode up to the stage, and requested the rehearsal pianist to play their duet. Marie complied, knowing an open challenge now was not good. She hoped that Erick would look after his niece around this wretch.


	6. Chapter 6

6

Katrina's laugh echoed through the house on the lake.

Erik wasn't sure whether to cringe or smile in response. The puppy had been a mistake, he was sure of it.

The animal already had giant paws and long legs; it would be a monster when it finished growing. Why he had done it, he couldn't be sure. It had been Katrina's eighth birthday, which oddly, she had forgotten. Maybe that was why; it was a puppy or a box of music. He had all the music that mattered, so he found a stray.

Upon seeing the giant bundle of mud-colored fur, the child had pronounced it the most delightful vision she'd seen, and named it Tomino.

Tomino seemed to share Katrina's affection, and submitted to any game she chose. At the moment, he was behaving as an admirable rug, allowing the girl to wallow over his stomach as she read aloud from a book of children's stories. He would even give a grunt in response to her questions, as if it were needed to encourage her. Erik wondered why she insisted the animal understood her. It was an intelligent beast, but not verbal. If it spoke or sang, Erik would believe it understood everything. Until then, it was a pet.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and they spent it quietly. The weather was too bad to walk, so she had happily become better acquainted with the mutt. Erik played quietly at the piano, not really worrying about notes or counting. The fire warmed them, and softened his harsh features; even it did bring out the yellow in his skin too much. As long as Katrina didn't mind, he could hide the frustration his face induced.

"The end!" she peeped to the dog happily. At last, Erik thought. She'd been reading aloud for hours, mispronouncing half the words. She picked up the book and replaced it on the shelf. She took down another one, a book of poems, and walked over to him. "Will you read one to me, Uncle Erick?"

He picked her up, walked over to the chair beside the fire, and flipped to the page his sister's hair ribbon marked. He read slowly, clearly, forming the carefully chosen words into a rolling torrent of emotion, an invisible tapestry that wrapped them together, and would never let them part.

Katrina loved Sundays.

She never felt the need to hide anything then, her uncle's face or his true 'business'. Her happiness felt freer when they simply drifted through the day. The loss of her parents was never forgotten, but here, in the stillness and encased by stone; she had learned to accept it.

Tomino roused himself long enough to wobble over and rest his chin on Erik's knee. His wet brown eyes gazed deeply into his new mistresses as she started to doze. The rich, soothing voice sent her off, letting her dreams dance with visions of rivers, dogs, birds, and the scent of chocolate.

Katrina awoke on Monday to see Tomino's face still watching hers, but from the edge of her bed instead of her uncle's lap. Slowly, she wriggled until she rolled headfirst off of her mattress and landed squarely on her rug, slippers and dog. Deciding it would be more fun to roll to the bathroom than stand, she tried, succeeding entangling her legs in her nightdress and the sheet that had fallen with her. Tomino walked alongside her, jumping back and forth, unsure if something was wrong with his beloved girl, or if this were normal.

After washing her face and hands, Katrina hopped out, the sheet now trailing from her shoulders like the cape Juliet had worn in the opera the year before. Tomino caught a glimpse of the stuffed horse her mother had made for her peeping from the folds, and bounded after it, landing on the train. Katrina coughed at the extra weight around her neck, but gripped the edges and pulled it determinedly along to her wardrobe. After selecting a yellow and grey dress, she plopped on the floor to arrange herself as best she could.

Erik found her twenty minutes later, trying to roll a determined dog off her bedclothes. Caging his impatience, he gripped the mutt in his knotted hands and helped smooth the state of the little room over.

Once that affair was settled, Katrina happily fed her pet, and set their table, unaware of the letter her uncle read slowly.

Jacques had written, outlining some difficulties with the lead tenor and his behavior. "Pig" was the most flattering name the manager had for him. He made a request of the Opera Ghost, asking him to watch the man, Pierre, and see he did nothing irreparable.

_D'Arcy and several chorus members have complained to me, but Pierre is most careful when I'm near. _

_What can I do?__I have no proof other than these ladies' word, and unless I see, cannot stop it. Do you understand?__As I pay for your services, I beg that you find something for me to utilize against this abhorrent, uncivilized oaf.__Better yet, drag him to whatever hell you are rumored to live in, that no one be forced to deal with the madman again._

Katrina touched Erik's arm, and he jerked, looking down at her with his blazing eyes.

"Uncle, is something wrong?"

"No, child, I was lost in thought. What were you asking?"

"How you wanted me to cook the eggs." She said solemnly, as if eggs were something of absorbing importance. He gave her one of his uncommon smiles.

"I think an omelet would be best today. If we linger over our food too long, you will be late, and I understand Mademoiselle D'Arcy has a dress rehearsal this day."

Katrina's face lit up. "She does, it's wonderful! Her best one is a great orange dress. Not a horrid orange that glares, Uncle, I wouldn't like that, but it's nearly the same color as her eyebrows and has lots of that fake lace. It looks wonderful from the box; Madame Tessa had me run up to see for her. And you wouldn't believe what Madame Giry has done with the dancers! It's so clever; even you'll admit it when you see it!"

His smile settled into a mocking sneer. "We shall see."

There was little love lost these days between Erik and Madame Giry, so Katrina wasn't surprised by his dismissal. The dance instructress knew that Katrina had a connection with the ghost, but neither spoke about it. Christine had left a great impression that screamed in silence from every wall and heart that had been there. Katrina often heard whispers between some of the soprano's old friends and admirers about it, thought they fancied she wouldn't understand their gown-up talk. But she did.

She knew her uncle had loved the singer; he had even left her room as it had been before her disappearance. It was the only door she was forbidden to open unless dusting or sent there for some item. She knew that Christine had been beautiful and talented, and that her heart was gentle. She also knew that her uncle was considered a bad man by the opera company, which puzzled her a little, but she knew everyone did something dreadful at least once in their lives. She reasoned that one day she would make a dreadful mistake herself and whether it would be on purpose or not remained to be seen. Katrina knew that some people would avoid any shadow around the opera and would have horrible nightmares because of what had happened. She knew that some only needed one bad fright before they went mad.

No, Katrina was not a foolish child. Loosing parents makes one look at live differently, even if it didn't cripple her heart, it certainly stiffened her back. The face her uncle had been born with was far worse than any wicked dream, and she had learned to forget its terror and love the possibilities that made up the man.

Katrina was an understanding child without fear.

After a rapid lesson, Erik sent her up the trapdoors to Marie's rooms. Tomino insisted on following, and the man agreed, deciding to spend his days in the old spots, watching this dreadful tenor Jacques was up in arms about.

As she neared her mistresses' room, Katrina heard an unfamiliar voice. She slowed her walk to listen. It was a woman's voice, not as trained as Marie's but rather similar somehow. It was lighter, more joyful.

Before she could stop him, Tomino tore through the door and leapt at the unsuspecting singer and her guest. Shrieks and cries echoed down the halls as a happy bark punctuated the words. Running after him, Katrina saw Mademoiselle D'Arcy standing in shock, clutching her robe tightly, and a plump woman laughing heartily on the floor, scratching the ragged dog on his side. "What a fine fellow this is! Look at those eyes, and how he listens," the stranger said approvingly.

"You cannot keep that thing, Helen, it would devour you. And I thought that your landlord forbid you to take in another animal!" Cried the soprano, her voice shaking.

"Oh, my dear canary died, so I can bring in another pet to keep the numbers stable." Helen beamed at the world in general.

Katrina shut the door behind her, causing the two women to turn, and Marie pointed to the dog drooling on her rugs. "Is this yours, Katrina?"

"Yes, Mademoiselle. Uncle Erick gave him to me. I would have left Tomino at home, but Uncle had some business to attend to."

The woman on the floor rolled up to her knees, and then to her feet, obviously more agile than she looked. Her bright red hair sprang around her curving face like an uncontrolled fire. "You must be the adorable child Marie has been telling me about. I'm Helen D'Arcy, her sister. By far the nicer of us, you'll find. Marie's a dreadful grump."

She shook the child's hand, surprised by the large eyes looking back from the strangely serious little face. "Hello, I'm glad to meet you."

"What pretty manners and excellent diction! Ria!" Helen cried, practically punching her sister in the arm, "You didn't tell me what an absolute gem she is! Must you stay here, darling? I'd love to take you with me on my next journey."

"Where is that?" Katrina asked, feeling some response was expected.

A huge laugh came from the woman's lips. "Why, to India, and then to America. I simply must paint India, hear their folk tales. They have some rather nasty ones, but some are splendid."

"There's one about a man who goes seeking treasure and ends up with a spinning blade around his head for all eternity." Katrina mused as she tried to keep Tomino from jumping on her. "Uncle Erik told me that one."

"I would wager he did," Marie snapped, not in a generous mood after her scare.

"He told me one about the snake in a man's belly who ate away at his health, and the snake in the anthill who horded treasure." Katrina continued; missing the shudder the soprano gave. Helen seemed suddenly subdued.

"How in heaven did he come across these fascinating tales of beauty for a little girl?" The sister asked dryly.

"He used to live in India, until he was sentenced to death." Katrina answered seriously.

Marie snorted, but Helen asked with equal gravity, "And what did he deserve such a fate?"

"He built a palace, and knew all its secrets. The Raja didn't want another place like it to be built, so he ordered to have Uncle Erik killed."

Helen gave a nod at her sister, as if to prove something. Marie ignored her, and had Katrina place the dog on the hearth for the morning. Other than the outgoing Helen, Katrina's day was quite normal until dress rehearsals.

She helped get the lead women dressed, and then was kept busy in one of the boxes, calling out replies about how the scenery looked, and how even the people were on the stage, and if she could hear everything. When she wasn't doing that, she was chasing and grappling Tomino from the strangest places. He seemed determined to rattle every trapdoor in the stage off its hinges, and to chew through the support for the hangman's platform in act three. Helen vanished at some point, why or where, Katrina didn't know.

It was during the great death scene that things began to happen.

Marie and the mezzo-soprano were singing their duet by the scaffold and doing it brilliantly. Pierre was to come up and stand nearby, joining in to form a trio. He decided to wander though the chorus and ballet, which was effective visually, but annoying for the girls he nudged and winked at. He pressed close to the two women at the front of the stage, singing practically in their ears. Katrina could see from her place in the seats that Marie and the other singer were getting angry with him. Why, she couldn't see, but she could see the wicked look in his eyes.

Just then, he made a grab at the little Mezzo, and with a cry, she fell forwards, save from a tumble into the orchestra pit by Marie's quick and strong grip.

All sounds stopped, and Katrina held her breath, feeling afraid for the first moment since Erik had come for her.

Pierre's smirk dared the company to speak against him. No one had _seen_ him, therefore they could say nothing, and do less.

Helen appeared out of the back seats, her elegant walking stick clutched dangerously. Katrina knew Marie could be fierce, but Helen was clearly willing to hit someone without a second thought.

"How could you?" The young girl who had nearly fallen asked, tears in her eyes.

"How could I what? Surely you are mistaken, Mademoiselle. No one saw me do anything to you. If you are…loose and presume to blame me for it, well," he shrugged and folded his hands easily. This only made the Mezzo cry harder, and Marie was angry enough to do something desperate.

A sand bag fell onto the tenor's shoulders, breaking and spilling down his elegant costume, filling his nose, eyes and mouth. Two more fell, one behind and one before, splashing sand into the boots Pierre wore. He cried out in surprise and anger, swearing at the people around him. No one made a move to help him, clearly enjoying his torment. The tenor Pierre had ousted snickered from his humble place in the chorus. He was arrogant, but basically humane to the others. To see himself proven by falling sandbags was delightful.

The mirth was short lived as a furious voice bounded from the walls, vibrating down everyone's spines and filling their ears, whether they were plugged or no.

"**_I_** saw, Pierre, and consider you unfit to fill a place in my opera house. You shall finish out this one part only, as I intend to teach you a lesson. Feel grateful, I would have happily let all three bags fall upon your skull. Not many are given a second chance by the Phantom."

At the hushed murmurs, Pierre felt fear of something other than himself take away their submission to him. He became angry, and spit sand at the air. "I do not believe in ghosts, and my chances are mine. You will teach me nothing!"

"That, I agree with. You are thoroughly uncooperative." The voice laughed madly around them, chilling the air. "Yet as for your chances, I would not light any lamps. It might…backfire."

"I am not afraid of you, phantom! You are nothing but a dreadful prankster, desperate to get himself in the papers for insulting an important man."

There was a pause, and a smug look crossed Pierre's face. The voice came again, quieter, but more frightening than before.

"No, you are not afraid of me yet. But then, you do not know me. However, your importance does not exist, so I shan't make any papers tonight. Your chances are now in my control, and I would watch how you behave towards my singers, Pierre. Take care, be cautious, or you may be a ghost yourself."

Katrina listened to the laughter fade away, knowing her uncle was walking to another part of the building, probably to get a better view of the tenor. A hand on each shoulder made her jump. Helen had one arm, and Marie had the other. The Mezzo was clinging to her, refusing to be left alone after two dreadful events. The soprano threw her chin in the air, and said clearly, "I have no intention of rehearsing any longer today."

The four women walked out and to Marie's dressing room. The Mezzo, Tina, collapsed on a chair and wept. Helen grimly rubbed her back and Marie paced. Tomino hunched on the rug, waging his tail penitently, worried that the fuss had been his doing. Katrina sat beside him and buried her fingers into his matted fur.

A few moments later, the manager burst in, looking a little pale. "I have been hearing all sorts of things from the ballet and chorus. Pierre refuses to speak at all! Tell me, what is happening?"

"Don't ask me," Helen replied practically, "I only arrived to for a visit this morning."

"It was the Opera Ghost!" Tina wailed, making the girl and pet on the rug twitch. "That dreadful monster is back to terrorize us all!"

Marie laughed derisively. "Tina, I assure you, there is no ghost."

"That's what Christine said." She sniffled.

"Then she was right."

Jacques cleared his throat. "I'm not so sure. I myself have sent and received letters from this Phantom. It may be an elaborate mask, but I believe that something exists. Be it mortal, or immortal, I trust its word."

"You what!" Cried Marie really shocked. Helen looked a little uneasy herself.

"I asked the Phantom's help in stopping Pierre's unwarranted behavior. Just look at what happened to Tina today! I could not let it continue, but I could not catch him at it. The ghost has done a marvelous job of seeing what I cannot, though I strongly dislike his methods. So yes, I trust his word and existence."

"You're mad!" Screamed Marie.

Helen grabbed her sister's arm, and shook her head. "Stop, all of you. You're going to scare the child."

As if remembering at the same instant, the four adults turned to look down at Katrina. Tomino wilted into her lap, but she gazed back wondering what was wrong. "He's not mad, Mademoiselle," She said quietly, "There's nothing to be afraid of, and nothing to wonder about. There really is a Phantom of the Opera. I've seen him."

_**Thanks to all who commented! If you have ideas for improvements in future chapters or guesses about what's next, I'd love the creative help. **_


	7. Chapter 7

7

Jacques wasn't sure that having a child's vote of confidence in his sanity was the best thing for his standing, particularly a child claiming to have _seen _the opera ghost.

Helen and Marie gaped at the child sitting coolly on the rug, a giant puppy huddled against her. Tina just kept crying. At last, the manager cleared his throat, and asked, "You've seen him?"

"Of course," Katrina said softly, "You don't have to be afraid of him."

"And why, pray tell, is that?"

"He's doing what you asked, isn't he?" The girl inquired with a businesslike tone. "It's not sensible he'd hinder his work."

At that phrase, Marie felt ill. This was not a common speech for a little one, and the uncle was to blame. She let out an angry laugh, and Helen looked at her quizzically. Katrina just buried her face against Tomino contentedly.

Seeing that no further information was coming from the girl, Jacques took Tina with him. Helen turned to her sister, a rare glare in her eyes. Marie sent her costume with Katrina to return it to the seamstresses. After she was gone, Helen rounded on the older woman. "What is going on? You've clearly lost your good sense. Do you believe in the opera ghost?"

"Of course not!"

"Then what has changed you? You look so sad and pensive; they'll write an opera about you soon if this doesn't stop."

"Not everyone is as happy or has the reasons to be happy you do, Helen." Marie snapped. "Don't ask it of me."

Throwing her red hair back, Helen sat on the chair, and scratched Tomino's ear. He rested his head contentedly in her lap. "You know perfectly well that this is the only life you wanted. If you are unhappy, then it is your own choice. What is it? You've had dreadful people around you before, and you were calm enough when we were in the auditorium. What is wrong?"

Marie's strong face crumpled. "It's Katrina." She sat across from her sister, and tears flowed down her face. "She is an orphan, and lives with a perfectly wretched uncle. I've never met him, but he must be dreadful, the things she says and does. She carries a pistol about when we leave the opera house, and knows perfectly well how to use it. In her pocket she always has a length of rope, tied in a lasso and ready to use _'__in case she should need to choke a bad person who follows'_ were her exact words, I believe. You've heard and seen her, how different she is from other girls. She hasn't a friend outside this building, nor does she seem interested in seeking one. She's mentioned her uncle is deformed, and won't see people."

"There's your answer!" Helen cried practically. "How is she to go anyplace if her guardian can't?"

"That's not all, Helen. I have this…feeling that Erik isn't what a girl ought to live around. It's like that feeling when you go in a hospital. Nothing may be wrong really, but the feeling of sickness stays behind. That's what he feels like to me."

A loud laugh interrupted the solemn moment. "Really, Marie, please! You've never met him by your own admission. You can't feel anything about him!"

"But I can! I resent him for being the kind of man who teaches young girls to strangle people!"

Helen watched the turmoil on Marie's face for a moment. She had never seen her sister like this before. Marie had always been aloof, strong, and unapproachable. Yes, Helen could see the gentle heart beneath, but that didn't count. To the public at large, Helen had chosen her art above all else. Now that she was growing older, it had begun to sink in that she could live her life alone and without children to love her back. Inside of Marie D'Arcy was a woman who needed a family, the same as every woman.

The younger, Helen had been the less independent more emotional of the two. She thought everything was funny, thought everything was better when brought out in the open. Her love of art had taken her all over the world to paint, though she had no ambition of making it her livelihood as Marie had in singing. Helen had taken her share of the family inheritance and saved every penny she didn't invest. She taught lessons to earn her keep, and would take a few commissions to keep up her spending money. She had always assumed Marie was the greater of them, the more prepared for life, to find her sister wilting before her was terrifyingly new.

"You wish you could take Katrina." Helen said. "You should just marry someone, you've had offers."

"But none I can stand! They are such oafs, bores," She saw the sad smile tugging at Helen's face. "Besides, you know nothing at all about it."

"Sometimes," Helen said slowly, "Sometimes it is us who need to change, not the other. I turned down the man across the street, do you remember him? The one I vowed was perfect in every way? Well, at twenty I knew no one on Earth was perfect, and that he and I were certainly not fitted to spend our lives under the same roof. I wish I could say it was devastating, and he went off to die of a broken heart. But no, I'm not a Juliet, nor do I wish to be. He's now comfortably settled with a nice woman and five children. There are times I wish I were the one holding the precious little ones, but I've cast my dice, and you have cast yours. Sometimes, you can't wait for the heart to make up its mind. You must use your head and decide for it. It's time for you to decide, Marie."

When Katrina walked in, she found Mademoiselle D'Arcy weeping into Helen's shoulder. Helen smiled, and assured her that everything was fine; it had only been a long day for them. Unsure that it was the truth, Katrina went to make tea. When things didn't go right, that was what Uncle Erik did.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Before I go on, a side note: I know Erik didn't live in India when he built the palace, but I know more about India, and I couldn't remember the real country at the time._********_Artistic license and all that. _**

**_And now, the chapter you've all been waiting for._**

8

Katrina decided she liked Helen.

Helen was always cheerful; she admired everything about the opera house. From the red carpets, to the statues, to the roof, she seemed determined to paint or sketch every inch of it. Katrina knew all the secret places no one would have drawn or appreciated besides an eight-year-old or Helen. The joys in a simple staircase or sunny window were shared by them equally.

Before long, Helen was slightly inclined to agree with Marie concerning Erik's choice of things to teach the child. It wasn't as horrid as her sister had painted, but it was still disconcerting to realize the tiny human beside you was carrying several lassos and a pistol at most times.

Katrina also had the disturbing habit of asking insightful questions in the middle of the random ones every child asks. She would ask about death, goodness, evil, and then be asking if she should make a crown for Tomino. It was humorous, but infuriating.

The child would appear in the most unexpected places. Sometimes, she would simply be walking along side a person and they would never know how she had gotten there without them seeing her approach. Helen found her as often in the rafters and walkways above the stage as she did in the cellars and stables. Marie attributed this to living around the theater, but Helen was sure there was more to it.

Helen and Marie found Katrina playing on the rehearsal piano once, a Beethoven dance. She would play it as originally intended, and then change something. It went on for thirty minutes before she realized someone was watching her. To the inquiry "where did you learn that?" she replied, "Uncle Erik."

"I tell you, Helen, it is maddening. Uncle Erik, Uncle Erik, Uncle Erik!" Marie ranted, positively seething after one question and answer session rendered little information.

Helen just laughed, but had a plan of her own to follow.

That night, there was a performance of the opera. Pierre was on good behavior, and the audience loved it. Marie went out with some friends to a party, and Helen begged off, pleading a headache. She helped Katrina straighten out the dressing room and lay out all the needed items for Marie's arrival and bedtime. Whenever that should be.

They walked out into the hall, looking at each other quizzically. Katrina looked odd without her dog nearby, and the quiet without him was deafening.

Helen was about to ask Katrina if she needed a guide home, when Pierre came stumbling down the hallway, drunk. He was mumbling to himself, but when he saw the two females, his eyes lit up. "Ah ha, a couple of morsels of dessert to end my day! Come here, sweets!"

"Run," Helen ordered, watching the singer reel towards them, a leer on his face.

She felt a tiny hand tug at her arm. "Come with me, I know a place he can't find us."

Helen paused, but quickly agreed, darting after Katrina. It was fortunate that Pierre was tipsy, or they might not have succeeded in reaching the dance room in time. Mirrors covered every wall, polished brightly so dancers could adjust their technique. Marie could see by the light reflected from the hallway. Katrina walked confidently to a mirror on the right and reached as high as she could. "Can you lift me?" She asked.

Rushing over, the woman picked her up, knowing that there was no way they could hide there. She could hear Pierre's slurred words as he came after them. His language was appalling. Just then, a mirror swung in, and they darted behind it. It shut noiselessly, and Katrina took Helen's hand again.

"Hold your hand up by your face, and I'll lead you."

They shuffled on, Katrina with confidence, Helen with fear. She had never been in such a black tunnel before, never had to depend on a child for guidance. Suddenly, a light glistened, reflecting water off of a lake. Helen stood on the shores, not sure whether to be enchanted or terrified. All the rumors she'd heard in the past few weeks came flooding back, and she trembled.

A great voice bouncing off the walls made her cringe down.

"What has happened? Are you alright?"

"Yes, we're alright. The tenor was sick, so we had to get away from him is all. I'm going up to the stables so Mademoiselle Helen can get back."

"Sick?" The voice asked, obviously unhappy about something.

Helen found her own voice at that. "Drunk, Monsieur."

The voice paused, and then said, "Take her to the house, Katrina. Stay there until I come."

The girl obediently began to untie a boat, and held it, waiting for Helen to board. "Are you mad?" Helen asked, eyeing the device and the child that would steer it. "We are miles below the opera, and you are sailing at the command of a disembodied voice? Do you know where this lake leads?"

Katrina looked puzzled and a little amused. "It's not a disembodied voice, it's my Uncle Erik. The lake leads to a way out and up that way and that way," she pointed, "and to my home that way." She pointed across from where they stood. "It's safe, as long we are in the boat I can take us there. But don't swim, the water has traps in it."

Helen got in the boat meekly, and watched as the girl rowed easily over the silent water. The lantern on the boat cast strange shadows, making the place look ill, or enchanted. Helen wasn't sure which yet.

They docked at some stone stairs, and Helen gratefully climbed out. Katrina followed and tied to boat neatly like an expert fisherman. She walked past Helen to a door, and wiped her feet on the mat before opening it.

Inside was a little entryway, neatly arranged with a coat hanger, umbrella stand, and what appeared to be a bell, only on the wrong side of the door. The living room was to the left, where shelves of books surrounded a cheery fire and some chairs were carefully placed. On the rich, thick rug slept Tomino. He grunted and twitched, chasing some forgotten beast in his dreams. To the right was a kitchen area. The little pantry was closed, and the dishes were stored on a splendid shelf. There was a table and chairs for eating, and a side board for serving, all carved in the same manner. A hallway in between them lead to another part of the house.

Helen sat on a chair, gazing around her in shock. Katrina set about making tea, not entirely sure what the protocol was, as she had never entertained company since arriving in Paris. She sat beside Tomino while the kettle warmed.

When the whistle sounded, the girl bounded up, brewed a large pot, and returned with all the things arranged on a little cart. She poured a cup of the sweet smelling tea and handed it to her friend almost shyly. There was a third cup, ready and waiting, Helen noted, sipping on her drink in numbness.

At last, she could take the silence no more.

"So, you live below the opera?" Helen began, unsure where to turn the conversation.

"We do," the voice said from behind her. She jolted around to see a tall, lean man, swathed in black evening clothes from head to foot. His face was hidden by the shadow of his hat and the muffler he wore close to his chin. His hands were gloved and held a long, black cane. "I see it surprises you."

"Yes," Helen admitted. "You must be the famed Uncle Erik," She stood, extending her hand, feeling a little better now that the tea had warmed her. He ignored her hand, and turned away, setting the cane in the holder by the door fastidiously. Katrina went over and held out a newly poured cup of tea to him.

Accepting it, he turned to face Helen. His eyes blazed yellow from below the shadows. Yet when he spoke the child, his voice was gently firm. "Katrina, go practice."

The girl took her tea and her dog, and obediently walked into the hall. A few moments later, organ music echoed through the house on the lake. Only then did the man move to sit across from Helen, yet he didn't remove his wraps. His voice was hard and cold when he spoke again. "The tenor is dead. You and Katrina were last to see him alive, no one else was there."

"Are you certain?" Helen asked, shocked. "He was drunk, yes, but quite alive."

The head bent down a little, hiding the face even more. "I went up to deal with him as Katrina rowed you here. When I arrived behind the mirrors, he had been found. The doctor said it was a heart attack, and nothing could help it. Tell no one where you were, only that you took Katrina home after seeing him. It is better this way."

"There is nothing else to tell, when you put it like that." She agreed. A swell on the organ made her jump. "Dear heavens, she has strength behind those fingers. You've taught her well. She's a very talented child."

"Talent had nothing to do with it. She was born with nothing, but she has a great capacity to create the talent within herself. No, she was born hopeless at music."

Helen was rendered speechless at that little statement. "Have you said this?"

"Many times, she must work to become anything worthy. So must we all. And I think you should go. Katrina will lead you up." He stood to walk by her towards the music room.

"Now wait a minute," Helen started. She'd had enough of lassos and pistols, revolving mirrors and secret houses on lakes. Marie was right, this man was unfit. Reaching out, she grabbed at his arm, and caught the cloak instead. It and the muffler fell away, and not even the deep shadow of the tall hat could hide Erik's face.

The scream echoed until Marie thought she'd heard something as she slipped on her robe for the night


	9. Chapter 9

9

Helen felt a tiny hand on her forehead, cool and gentle. She could smell tea and muffins, hear a fire gently snickering somewhere nearby. A deep, gorgeous voice said something and a child's answered. Footsteps walked away, and there was silence.

Someone adjusted the blankets around her and a pattering sound of small feet zipped here and there around the room, followed by a door creaking shut.

Forcing her eyes open, Helen peered around the dimly lit room, wondering where she was. She heard a dog whine somewhere, and tried to sit up. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, but she couldn't place it.

The table by the fire was set with breakfast food, but she couldn't seem to get the energy to stand. Give off a growl of impatience; she let her head fall back on the pillows. As if on cue, Katrina appeared her face more solemn than usual. "Oh, Katrina, shouldn't you be helping Marie?"

"No, I told Marie I was sick and had to stay in bed." The little girl walked over and peered down at the woman.

"Why would you say that?"

Katrina bit her lip and shuffled awkwardly. "Because Uncle Erik said not to leave you alone until you could walk."

The memories from the night before came back in a solid wall, and Helen sat bolt upright in panic, only to have a pain run through her skull. "Oh!" She cried, clutching at her curls. Katrina gently helped her lean back and propped her up with more pillows that seemed to appear from thin air. Walking over the food, Katrina brought it over to serve her guest in bed.

After some blueberry muffins and tea had found their way to her stomach, Helen felt better. She gazed at Katrina with new eyes, remembering the face from the night before. The living skull, the blazing eyes, the yellow skin that burned as if with fever. He had caught her before she'd fallen into the fire, but she had shoved away, landing instead on, what? A table?

The child seemed the same as always, just concerned. How she could face her life so complacently was a mystery. "How long have you lived with Erik?"

Katrina shrugged. "Longer than a year I think. My Mother and Father wanted me to."

"Is he really your uncle?"

"Of course, he's my mother's brother."

To think of that face with a family, a mother, father, sister, and now niece was surreal. Helen remembered all the rumors she'd heard about the former singer and the opera ghost, and believed them. She believed ever word, the good and the evil.

Katrina moved the tray and held out a robe. "Do you think you can walk now? I can show around our house."

The concern on the young face forced Helen to paste a smile on her face, and stand slowly. Katrina took great care in leading her friend out of the room, and down the hall. "That's where Christine used to sleep," she said pointing back through the door they had left behind. Helen felt cold and pulled the robe tighter around herself.

The child proudly showed her own room, but only pointed to the closed door of her Uncle's. She showed the music room, and tried to explain the necessity of having a piano there as well as in the main part of the house. Helen only nodded, wondering vaguely about things she could barely put a name to. Katrina took her at last to the room she had fainted in, settling Helen in the chair near the fire. Stood before her, waiting, the girl was silent for a moment. "You hate my uncle, don't you?"

Helen's heart broke at the sadness in the girl's voice. "Oh, Katrina," she took the child's hands gently. "How can I explain it to you?"

"Uncle Erik already did, but I didn't want to believe him." There was the ring of disillusionment to the words, but no bitterness. "But he's always right, so I should have listened."

"What did he say?" Helen felt a rising horror at the thought of that thing explaining her fears.

Katrina turned away a little, looking into the fire. "He said that anyone who sees him is afraid, always. Christine was, my grandparents were, my mother was, though I think she learned not to be. He said that that kind of fear turns into hate. You can't get away from it or change it, so people hate it. Some people loath it he said. I looked up loath in a book, it means worse than hate." She turned back, as if this information might bring about a special response. When it didn't the girl went on. "I used to think people talked about him as the ghost so cruelly because they didn't know him, and I suppose that's still part of it. But that doesn't change the fact they hate him."

Helen rubbed the girl's hands between her own. "My dear, your uncle is right. People are afraid of him, because he's worth being feared. But you love him and aren't afraid."

"Yes, but I'm unnatural." Katrina remarked. Helen vowed to strike Erik when she saw him again. Provided Katrina was out of the room and she didn't faint first.

Controlling her anger however, she said slowly, "Would it help if I tried to understand your uncle? I may never be a good friend, but at least I may learn not to hate him." Bending a little she gazed into the watery eyes before her. How controlled that girl was! She should be weeping on the rug by now. "Will you help me if it's alright with your uncle?"

Katrina nodded, looking a little happier at the idea. "An experiment? To see what happens?"

"Very much so," Helen dryly muttered.

The rest of the day was spent showing Helen her favorite books and some of her lessons. After about nine o'clock, Katrina simple crashed into sleep. When Erik returned, she was tucked in bed, Tomino at her side. He walked out softly to find Helen standing in the hall.

"Katrina and I have come to an agreement, and I think we should talk while she can't hear."

With a nod, the cloaked man led her back to the sitting area.


	10. Chapter 10

10

Helen sat stiffly, wondering why in all her travels she had nothing to prepare her for this. She was thankful he kept his face covered and sat in the shadows.

"You know of my sister's concerns?" She began.

"I do."

"Then prove to me they are unfounded, that you are not worthy of hate. I have made an agreement with Katrina that I will give you that chance. I must warn you that it is for her sake alone I promised."

There was a pause before he said; "Now I see your sister in you. While I am grateful for your concern on my niece's behalf, I must reject it. There are parts of my life and her own which are best left sealed, and for that reason, no man shall take her from me. You have seen enough of my work to know I am not to be trifled with, nor do I have an abundance of patience. As Katrina has attempted to make the way smooth between us, and it is not a danger, I will humor her. As you warned me, I warn you, it is for her sake only. I am not a tolerant man."

Helen nodded wrapping her round arms about herself tightly. "We agree to silence and forbearance then? Very well. I shall have to return to Marie tomorrow morning with some explanation of what has happened. I suppose I ought to stay with our original story, how I took her home and stayed over when…Katrina became ill."

"That would be best. The fewer details, the less to remember, the less to ruin. I will take you above in the morning before Katrina awakes and you need never venture down here again."

Helen let out an involuntary sigh of relief, her old humor returning. "That, I think, would please me. Forgive my saying, the damp down here doesn't quite agree with me."

He made no reply, but stood and walked into his rooms, leaving her to her own devices.

Helen and Katrina's stories were accepted without question, and the only real issue seemed to be the discussion of Pierre's funeral. After a full and rather abnormal day of arranging the black dress for the services, and rushing from Madame Tessa's workrooms to Marie's dressing room, Katrina was thrilled to return to the house on the lake.

It was only after the evening meal when the sisters where in their dressing gowns and enjoying tea by the fire that Marie probed. "Well? What was he like?"

"The first time you asked me that, was when a boy hung about the gate and you were too shy to say hello. As I recall you were certain you were going to marry the scamp." Helen hedged.

"As I recall it, he was infatuated with you, dear heart." Marie snapped, "Now tell me what Erick was like, you impossible female!"

Weighing her words carefully, Helen said, "You were right, he's not a common man. But I think you were wrong that he is bad for Katrina. She would be much the worse without him."

Marie leaned back and eyed the fire, then her sister. "He's scared you, which I can see. It takes a lot to frighten you, Helen, and I don't like it."

"I don't claim to like it, but I do claim to be at a tentative peace with it. There are people," Helen stopped and shook her head as she took a long drink from her mug.

"Go on, there are people," Marie prompted.

"There are people who are mirrors. They are born to show us our souls, all the worst and best in us. This Erik is one of those people, who show us what we really are. It's not a pleasant experience, but I can't be entirely sorry for it."

Marie looked thoughtful. "Katrina is that way, but she's so loving that you only want to be the better person for her sake."

"The way that child sees the world is truly a wonder," Helen agreed


	11. Chapter 11

11

In the next two weeks, Katrina wondered what was wrong with Helen's eyes. Every time the girl looked up from her sewing or cleaning, the older woman would suddenly look away and blink as if they hurt or itched.

"Do you need to see a doctor? Your eyes move all the time," Katrina asked soberly one day. Marie looked up from her letters with a strange look.

Helen cleared her throat. "No, dear, I'm fine. It happens if there're strange things in the air, but I daresay it'll clear up before long."

"What if it doesn't? Will you have to wear a patch?" Katrina pressed, recalling seeing a man who had been missing an eye at a circus once. "Will it be a black patch or a white one?"

"If I ever wear a patch I shall have one of every color, so that it will always match my clothes." Helen said somberly. "And I promise to have you help me embroider and bead the ones for nice occasions."

The idea seemed to puzzle Katrina, but she accepted the promise and took a costume to Madame Tessa. Marie threw her hands in the air. "Really, Helen! Colored eye patches!"

The younger sister looked after the girl with a bright smile. "I hadn't the heart to just drop the conversation. She was so genuinely concerned."

"Don't you think it will give her nightmares?"

Helen raised a flaming eyebrow. "I hardly think you need worry about that, Ria darling. Besides, I think you'd best concern yourself with that returned tenor and how we shall survive tonight's program."

"I'm the one singing, not you. Leave it to me, and stick to your paintings."

"But my dear, I just clutch my walking stick every time I hear you, as if I'm singing too. The honor of the D'Arcy name rides on you every appearance you make."

"Then you should have said something before I became a singer." Marie snapped, turning to ponder the writing on an unopened letter. "Speaking of, how is Mother faring?"

Helen dropped her paper pad to her lap. "She hates the neighbor to the right, says he's got unwholesome intentions, though he can barely walk or see. I almost think she'd be the better for some kind of excitement. Perhaps I should introduce her to Erik?" The last question was posed softly to herself so that Marie, thankfully, didn't hear it. The soprano was reading the letter now, and looked over to her sister.

"I think I should have Mama for a visit. Would you feel slighted if she came right away? I know I promised to keep you to myself, but…" She waved a long hand vaguely.

Helen snorted and returned to her sketching. "For heaven's sakes, Marie, she's my mother. That's not exactly entertaining the whole of Paris and avoiding my company. It would do her good to put her nose where it doesn't belong again. Like why Katrina carries a noose."

Marie swore and went pale. "She can't mention it, or the pistol, or the ghost! Helen, Mama will die of a fit if Katrina says a word about those things; we must have a talk with her. Oh, but girls are so indiscreet! What am I to do? Should I give Katrina a holiday?"

The younger woman was laughing in earnest by the end of this speech. "Katrina is as silent as a grave when she has to be, Ria. Just sit her down, tell her what Mama won't like to hear, and that will be the end of it. Good gracious, the worst that will happen is Tomino arriving uninvited."

"Oh, I'd forgotten about the dog," Marie said frowning.

"For such a hardnosed singer, you are dreadfully flustered," Helen gouged, wondering why her one tree wouldn't quite fit in the distance.

Just before Marie realized she was being teased, Katrina slipped around the door, and cleared her throat. "Is there anything else before luncheon?"

Marie snatched a card, wrote a hurried note to her mother and prepared it for sending. "Post this, would you child? I have something to discuss with you after you come back."

Katrina wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, took the message and money for the post. She promised to be back in time to help prepare the meal, and ran lightly out of the opera house. The wind was turning cooler and she reflected that she ought to have gone for her coat. The Masquerade would be soon, and she wondered what Marie and Helen would go as. The idea of Siamese twins amused her fancy for several blocks. At the office, she found herself the only child in about six grownups. They smiled at the solemn look on her face as she stepped in line, waiting her turn. A man entered after her, and took his place directly behind her. When she reached the high desk, she could barely poke her fingers over to hand up the letter.

"Have you the money for postage?" The worker asked kindly, having small children of his own. He leaned over to see her face, and was greeted with a rather indignant look that said, 'of course, did you expect me to send it for free?'

She reached into one of her rather well hidden pockets, courtesy of Uncle Erik, and set the coin on the counter. The man smiled and bid her a good day, then went a little glum on seeing the gentleman behind her. "I would have thought your master had better sense than to start up his hunt again."

"My master," said the man evenly, "has a good reason. It is for me to obey."

"Well, I'm sorry for you, that's all I can say." The worker handed over a bundle of letters and a package.

Katrina was waiting by the door while a group of rather giddy and very young women entered, obviously absorbed in an over-perfumed letter. One of them saw the girl watching and waved dizzily. "Hello, Kat, running errands for Mademoiselle Le Soprano?"

"Hello, Meg." Katrina said, knowing better than to say more with the rest of the trope de ballet present.

The gentleman shook his head and held the door for the child. "May I walk you a few blocks?"

She turned her great, clear brown eyes on him for a moment. "Where are you going, sir?"

"To the Opera, I'm afraid. My master has business there that cannot wait."

"Then we can walk all the way together. My mistress is employed at the opera."

They continued in silence for several feet, when he asked uncomfortably who her mistress was. She told him, and they lapsed into silence again.

Katrina's eyes were never still, taking in the women bustling on supposed important shopping, the men absorbing in their work or papers, couples absorbed in each other, and children chasing each other, ignorant of all else. The man watched her, looking at the multi-colored hair that sprang about its owner's face rebelliously, and the wide eyes, looking at the world as if every shade were a gem of surpassing worth.

"Shouldn't you be out on a day like this?" He asked at last, feeling it was polite to venture some comment.

"I forgot my coat, and there is a performance tonight. Mademoiselle would never let me off on a performance night unless I was ill." She skipped lightly around a few dead leaves happily. "I shouldn't like to miss hearing it anyway. What's your favorite opera?" She turned her eyes on him, genuinely curious.

"I…I don't know, I haven't given it any thought." He said, perplexed.

The girl walked backwards a few steps to warm her hands out of the wind. "I like Magic Flute, but there aren't any singers for the Queen of the Night. Monsieur Jacques has been rather busy, so I doubt he'd want to look for one." The matter of fact statement brought an idea to the fellows head.

"Tell me; has it to do with the unfortunate death of the lead tenor?"

"I suppose, though I don't think he considers it unfortunate. No one could tell him anything, and he cost as much as he brought in. Pierre was rude to everyone and mean to the lady singers. He made all the dancers cry."

The practical tone was a little chilling on the surface, the considering the age of the child it was understandable, the man reflected. It was likely she was only repeating what gossip went around the theater. Yet, the eyes were something strange, something new. He couldn't quite place it, but it was odd.

"Do your parents work at the opera?" He inquired, somewhat absentmindedly.

She shook her head. "Mother never cared for opera. Besides, they are dead now." Katrina had learned the art of stating that fact quickly and simply to avoid a great deal of wasted pity. People always looked so awkward when she told them her parents had died, and she was always glad to be done with it when it had to be said. "My uncle lives near the opera, and says it's alright that I work for Mademoiselle D'Arcy. I think he likes her and her sister, but I don't think he wants to talk about it. He glares so if I bring it up. Why is that, do you think?"

"Some people like to keep their feelings to themselves," The man offered, feeling he had overstepped his ability in this conversation. He was greatly relieved to see the opera a head, and strode a little longer. The girl kept up without a murmur.

They entered to find Marie shouting at a man in a strange hat, who stood there impassively. He was rather dusky in complexion, and just above the average height, though his slender frame made him look a little taller. Helen was standing back from the scene with Jacques, both with perplexed expressions. The stranger turned as the man with Katrina walked up.

"Ah, Darius, I'm glad you've returned. This is Mademoiselle D'Arcy, and we've been getting to the bottom of the death of the unfortunate tenor." His tone was obviously put on for the woman's benefit and sent her into an instant rage.

Katrina gazed up at her as she swore, trembling with vengeful passion. Seeing the great eyes, Marie snapped, "I suppose your uncle never says those words? Well it's time you learnt them!"

"He only says them when he thinks I can't hear," Katrina offered, feeling like laughing and hiding at the same time. Then, thinking more was expected of her, she asked, "Where did you learn them?"

Marie's mouth opened and shut a few times before she stormed off, Helen shot Katrina an approving glance and followed. Jacques made a vague apology and offered the use of his box to the gentlemen. The man accepted, and turned to the little girl. "I should leave if I were you; this is no place for a young girl."

Katrina scuffed her shoe along the rich red carpet that would be lifted for the Masquerade. She wasn't really sure how to reply, knowing who this man was. He was the Daroga, the Persian, the hunter who followed Uncle Erik. She could see he meant well, but she knew her silence was required. "I don't think I can go, sir. I'm Mademoiselle D'Arcy's maid and it's a performance night."

"Then I suggest you hide during the performance, or you'll end up like the tenor," he warned.

She frowned and shook her head. "Pierre wasn't murdered by the opera ghost, if that's what you're after. He died of a heart attack after drinking too much, didn't he, Monsieur Jacques?" She took the manager's hand, and looked up.

It was the first time he really noticed her, even after the incident in Marie's dressing room, he hadn't thought the child of any consequence. Now, he saw her as a missing piece to the puzzle that made up the opera. He felt that somehow, she was as important to the running of this building as he was.

"It is true, sir, he even chased this girl and Mademoiselle Helen in a most deplorable fashion that night. Why, this child was even taken ill for the next two days!"

The Persian smiled almost sadly at that. "I see that history repeats itself. Tonight at the opera, then?" He nodded and walked away, leaving Katrina feeling that she had just dodged a bullet.


	12. Chapter 12

12

The performance was well attended, sadly, not for the sake of the music.

Word of the great tenor's death, rumors of the phantom, and the usual sordid stories that go with the arts had attracted quite a number of people. Most of them were wealthy patrons, desperate to be sure their interest in the opera house had not been a waste. Some were there from curiosity or a morbid fascination.

Katrina peered from the wings, where she was waiting with Helen to help Marie with her costume changes, the regular dresser having been taken ill that afternoon. She could see the Daroga in the manager's box, watching without expression. Her eyes flicked to Box 5, where she knew Uncle Erik was looking over the events of the evening. She could not see him, but she could catch a bit of that feeling she got when he was watching her at home. Oh yes, Erik was watching.

Helen let out a humph, and shook out a frilly cloak. "Why is this necessary? Surly a simple shawl would have done just as well?"

Katrina turned her big eyes on the older woman. "She turns so often in the second aria, the flounces show it off. Besides, a shawl doesn't look as rich as the fake lace. She'll have a shawl after the count throws her out, to fend for herself and sell her soul."

Pausing to give Katrina a funny look Helen shook her head. "It's not her soul she sells, dear. But tell me, what opera doesn't have a woman thrown out, or misunderstood?"

"Martha," Said the girl with certainty. "She runs away and pretends to be a maid, the better to find her way." Helen decided to see if Erik would allow her to loan the child something besides a music score to read. Hang Erik, she'd just loan the book and take her deserts!

The overture started, and Katrina's eyes were instantly on the harpist, a tiny fellow who played with his whole heart. She often had trouble seeing him from her uncle's box, as he had always been hidden behind his large instrument. The child wondered if Erik had written any harp music. Helen wondering if the girl were a little addled by living underground with a yellow skinned skeleton, to sit so still for the sake of sound.

The tenor, now returned from exile in the chorus, did his job credibly and with fervor, knowing only an occasional visiting star would oust him from his position now. Marie sang with an agitation only evident to her sister, and possibly the Persian. All the patrons breathed a sigh of relief after the first half, and the sensation seekers felt a trifle cheated that no one fell down dead on the stage.

Katrina disappeared for a few moments, and was found my Marie and Helen in the dressing room. She was struggling under the weight of two bundles of roses, one yellow, and one blue. Laughing at the sight, Helen rushed to help her.

"Oh, you must have a proposal tonight, Ria! Just look at the size of them."

"They are not the common kind of gift, they were specially ordered." Marie said sharply. "What do you know about this, Katrina?"

The girl shook her head, the wild curls bouncing franticly. "I didn't until Uncle Erik gave them to me and said I was to bring them here."

Helen was instantly subdued, and Marie took the card from the yellow bunch, and read aloud;

_"__Mademoiselle D'Arcy, I wish to congratulate you on the competent performance this evening.__My opinion of you is highly improved, and I am pleased my niece is looked after by so strong a personage.__Yours, Erik."_

Taking the other card, she read:

_"__Mademoiselle Helen, My thanks for the aid you have given with my niece and the chance you have taken.__Yours, Erik."_

The sisters looked at each other, totally puzzled. Katrina's face was absolutely comical. It varied from elated, to horrified, to hopeful, to amused and started all over again. When the silence grew too great for her, she finally spoke her mind.

"Will he marry one of you to give me an aunt?"

The roses fell to the floor, and the sisters turned to the child, each hoping the other would think of a suitable reply. Thankfully, Katrina's active brain filled in the gaps on its own.

"I suppose he would start for both of you, and he's only met Helen. That means she'll be my aunt if he continues it. But no, he'd have said something to me about it, and he never did. I suppose he's only thanking you after all." The idea seemed to disappoint her as much as it relived the women.

Gathering up the dropped bundles, they found vases large enough for them, and hurried to prepare for the next half. There was some time yet, but Marie was not in a mood to sit still for long. When Katrina went for the next costume, the older woman turned to Helen. "What did he mean, 'chance you have taken'?"

"Nothing," Helen said, cheerfully.

"Helen," Marie pressed, "I know you are hiding something, so tell."

Turning her rotund face to her sister, Helen sighed deeply. "I'm afraid there is nothing to tell. Katrina and her uncle have had sad lives. I suppose it meant my understanding the night I took her home."

Marie could see tears in her sibling's eyes, and hurried over. "Oh, you can tell me, Helen. No one's here, please tell me!"

"I can't! I'm sorry, Marie, but I gave my word I wouldn't. If it were just a matter of confiding, you know I'd have said everything long ago. But Katrina's happiness is in the balance, and I will not do anything to injure that precious, precious child!"

With that flat declaration, Marie knew further questions were useless. She kissed her sister, and said gently, "If you ever find need of an ally, I am here, Helen. You know this."

Nodding, the younger woman patted the long slender hand resting on her sleeve. "Of course I do. We have always been two bolts of lighting, haven't we? You just boom and crack, and make people take notice. I rattle and worry 'em until they aren't sure what to make of it."

"Lightning yourself. I'm a whole rainstorm, dearie."

Katrina's light step was heard then, and so they dried their eyes and prepared for the rest of the night.


	13. Chapter 13

13

Christmas neared, and Katrina was beside herself with delight over the décor going up and the lifting of moods. Her greatest joy was to be sent out for ribbons or to mail letters and see all the festive wonders around the city.

Marie and Helen's mother arrived on a day she was out, about three weeks before Christmas. She took one look at the opera house and decided it was a death trap, full of mould and drafts.

"Mark my words, children," she said, waving a bony finger at no one in particular, "If you stay here longer than another year, you shall die of a cold gone nasty, or of some dreadful plague. You did say they employ a rat-catcher, Marie, you did say that once. Where rats live, so does illness, mark me on that." She nodded and tapped her cane on the carpet, as if that proved her point.

At that moment, a voice, now familiar to the sisters, came closer, singing Ces't Noël at top volume. It ran quite high, and then plunged into a far lower range in what obviously was meant to be a woman and man's split voicing. The song changed a moment later to Pat a Pan, with crisp, clear rhythms so that one could almost hear a drum behind the sound. Madame D'Arcy was enchanted, and looked with watery grey eyes towards the door.

"Is that one of the protégés? What an angelic voice!"

"No, Mama; that is my maid. See, here she is now. Katrina, come meet out Mother." Marie motioned the girl to come in as the music stopped.

The child walked forward, curtsied, and asked how the lady did. The old dame was enchanted, and smiled with her thin lips at the girl.

"At least someone has brought her up properly, a prettier curtsy I've never seen! Set down that basket and come closer dear." Katrina complied, walking right up to the woman's knee and looking her full in the face. "My, my, why didn't you write and say you had such a charming maid, Marie?" Madame said, taking the little warm hands in her wrinkled cold ones.

Helen started laughing. "She was afraid you'd whisk her away and we'd never see her again. How could Ria loose a perfectly good maid to you like that, Mama?"

"Scholarships to a fine school is not taking girls away entirely, Helen. Now hold that tongue of yours, if you can." Turning back to the child, the woman studied her face closely. "It seems I've seen a face like this once before, long ago in a small village. The hair is unmistakable."

"My Uncle says I look like my Mama." Katrina offered; fascinated by the way the old lady's extra chin flapped. She wondered if it was soft to play with, but decided against asking.

Marie, sensing an interrogation, asked Katrina to fetch her red dress from the first act of the opera to check the seams. As the girl scurried away, the soprano sat across from her matriarch and folded her hands. "Now, you may ask us all the questions you like, Mama. Katrina is a bright child, and I won't have her embarrassed by your overt interest."

Snorting, Madame D'Arcy observed, "Well, singing has turned you into something as hard as nails, I see."

"She's right, Mama," Helen said, "Katrina shouldn't have to go through endless questions."

"Oh, very well. Who are her parents, or do you know?"

"We don't," Marie answered, "And they are dead, at any rate."

"An orphan, then?"

"Not, entirely, she lives with an uncle here in Paris."

"And what is he like?"

Marie turned to Helen, who shrugged noncommittally. "He has nothing but the girl at heart. Not a person to deal with, but there is nothing to complain of in the care he gives Katrina."

"Does she attend any school? Or has her learning been neglected?"

"Her uncle teaches her, I believe," Marie ventured, looking to Helen for support. The younger nodded slipping in that she had seen many school materials on her visit to their home. None traditional, but then, Katrina wasn't traditional either.

The old woman snorted. "So she is not a complete fool or uneducated brat then. She really is a pretty child, it's a pity she'll live her days out as a maid.'

"My maid," Marie said warningly.

Katrina popped back in then, beaming up at them, Tomino at her heels. "The men have just brought in the tree! You should see it, it's a thousand feet high, and Jacques promised I should help if Uncle said I could."

Taking the red dress out of the little hands and setting where a wayward pup couldn't chew it, Helen asked, "And how do you propose to climb a thousand feet to trim it?"

"Oh, there's a ceiling above, I shall simply drop down to the tree." Katrina said, as if that were answer enough. "Uncle is writing a Christmas song for me to sing. Perhaps I can sing it for you all,"

Helen tried to be a serious as the child beside her. "That is a generous offer. Does he always write for you?"

Katrina glanced back at the door and lowered her voice, "Yes, now that Christine's gone. If she were here, he'd write for both of us."

Madame D'Arcy was thoroughly puzzled by the words and behavior, but decided a small child had the right to be erratic over Christmas time.

The ensuing performances were completed over the next few nights, and any employees who had travels packed and left. Katrina helped trim the giant tree, dropping from a trapdoor in the ceiling as she had promised.

The Daroga stalked the halls, and she found herself always on guard. He was quite preoccupied with the ghost, and rarely noted the little girl with large brown eyes watching him. She spoke mostly to the all enduring Darius when he came along, and avoided using hidden doors in hallways where they walked. She wondered if they had any place to go for Christmas.

It was then that the singular stubbornness of Madame D'Arcy showed itself.

Marie had warned her about the area on the Rue Scribe side of the opera and its tendency to freeze with black ice no one could see. She begged her mother to always take one of the sister along when she went out so that there would be less danger for her aged bones.

Deciding that the arrogant daughter turned lauded soprano wanted to keep her prisoner in the drafty old building, Madame walked out alone one night while the girls had gone to fetch some goods from the city. She bundled well, gripped her cane tightly and marched slowly along.

When she came to the aforementioned side, her pride was her undoing. She had come this far without trouble, and fully assured nothing could happen, took another bold step.

The ice was black, and unseen, and she slid to the ground and clunked her old head firmly on the pavement. As the light dimmed, she saw a tall, emaciated man in evening dress bend over her.


	14. Chapter 14

14

Katrina was happily setting out an evening tea when a scratch sounded on the hidden door behind the mirror. Worry gripped her, as Uncle Erik had avoided that door long before she had come. He showed Katrina the way to and from it, but not another word was spoken about it. She had learned from gossip that the room had once belonged to Christine.

Rushing to press it open, she saw her uncle carrying Madame D'Arcy in his arms. He placed her on the little couch, leaning her cane against the table. Katrina placed a blanket by the fire to warm, and looked to her relative for answers.

"Tell them she fell, on the Rue Scribe side. Going out alone."

"But," Katrina said in confusion, "They told her about the ice. Why would she go out there?"

With a fond note barely audible in his voice the man said, "Not everyone heeds warnings given in love. Not everyone is you, Katrina. Tell Mademoiselles what happened, and that she is quite alright. She had only a small bump to head, and will recover."

"Will she be well enough for Christmas?" Katrina asked, wondering for the first time in her life if it was possible to be ill enough to miss a holiday.

"Yes, she will be well for Christmas." He returned to the passage and closed it after him.

Katrina undid the old woman's cape and cap, and draped the warm blanket over her. She started some broth, and had tea ready to give as soon as Madame's eyes opened. She was a firm believer in the healing power of tea, as that was what everyone gave an ill party. It had to be good for one's health.

The old woman's senses came at last, and she moaned reaching up to her face. "It was death, my child, death came to me." She muttered feebly, her old hands shaking.

The girl brought some of Marie's fluffy pillows and propped the mother up so she could drink some broth. "It wasn't death, Madame. You just slipped. Marie told you about the ice." She solemnly admonished.

"It was the face of death, little one, and it left me here."

Somewhat subdued by the hollow tone in her voice, Katrina said, "No it wasn't. It was my Uncle Erik, and he brought you back safe to Marie's rooms. He found you on the ice where you'd fallen. See? There's no death here, just us."

Madame drifted to sleep, and Katrina stared into the fire until the sisters returned. She bounded over to them and relayed her story in one breath, pointing to the prone form on the sofa. Helen rushed over and looked into the pale face.

"Dear heavens, why can't she listen?" Looking up at Marie's concerned eyes, she said, "She's alright, just sleeping."

Marie patted Katrina's shoulder and shook her head. "How did she get back?"

"Uncle Erik," Katrina answered. "He found her."

"How long ago?"

"An hour."

Marie sighed and sat down, looking at the drawn face of her mother. "I suppose we have fulfilled our idea of putting something interesting into her life. Stubborn!"

"You ought to know," Helen gibed cheerfully.

"Oh, hush," Marie rebutted, but without her usual spirit. As distant as her relations with her mother had often been, she did care for her a great deal, and was shaken at the result of that night's adventures.

Katrina leaned against Marie, and patted the singer's hand. "She'll be alright, Uncle Erik said so."

Putting her arm around the girl, Marie sighed and kissed the child's forehead.

As predicted, Madame D'Arcy recovered.

By the next day she was well enough to tersely order her daughters around the rooms, and insist Karina read a ladies magazine to her.

Tomino had come along that day, and lay before the fire like a pile of dried mud, his blue eyes blinking sleepily at the sound of his mistress's voice. Katrina was truly confused as to the point of an article concerning weather men preferred lace or ruffles, and how one's bearing around houseplants made a difference. Eventually, she worked up the courage to say so and was treated to a lengthy lecture by Madame on the importance of the issue.

After politely listening for an hour, Katrina demurely asked, "Don't men like nice women no matter how they are dressed?"

"Really, how can you wonder that? Men don't notice anything upfront, that's why we have to be subtle about showing them what kind of women we are."

Katrina looked at the drawing of a simpering woman and the confused looking fellow holding her hand. "I think it's an awful lot of wasted trouble. What if he realizes she was just pretending all along?"

Madame took the spectacles on a chain about her neck and held them up to peer at the child. Katrina was looking into the fire, and twisting her hand in the dog's matted fur. "And what do you think a woman should be?"

Looking up, Katrina replied, "like my mother; like Marie and Helen. Since you're their mother, you must have been like them once, too. I don't think anyone would be fond of a woman like this," she looked askance at the article.

"I see," Madame D'Arcy mused. Before she could continue the thought, a kick sounded at the door. Wrapping her dressing gown tightly about her throat, Madame nodded for Katrina to open it. The girl dropped the quarterly and rushed to obey.

There stood the Daroga.

"Pardon the intrusion," He began, "but I wondered if perhaps either of Mademoiselles D'Arcy would be available to speak with me?"

"No, I'm afraid both are out on errands. But I am their mother, perhaps I could help?" He bowed and she gestured for him to take the chair across from her. "Katrina, make us some tea, please." Leaning over her cane, she fixed her elderly eyes on him in a prim, vague way. "Well, go on young man. I'm listening."

He glanced at Katrina, and met her brown eyes for the first time since he had returned. He became painfully aware of their gaze, and shifted his weight. "Perhaps it is not appropriate to discuss the matter before a young lady?" He suggested. Madame glanced at Katrina's injured look, and smiled.

"You would find her a better informant than I, sir. She has lived here several years and I have only been visiting a week. She goes about the entirety of the employ here, and I stay with my daughters."

Glancing at the child, he frowned thoughtfully, but shook his head. "This has to do with the death of the tenor Pierre."

Measuring out the tea leaves into the pot, Katrina said evenly, "He drank too much and his heart stopped." Feeling their eyes on her, she looked up to find Madame frowning in disapproval, and the Dargoa confused. "My uncle told me." She supplied.

Tapping her cane, Madame snapped, "Your uncle said so. That settles it."

Katrina was beginning to wonder if the entire world had something against uncles, or if it was just Erik. The Persian took his tea with a nod of thanks and turned again to Madame D'Arcy. "I hear that he affronted your daughter and another singer, and that the opera ghost dropped sand bags on him as a warning. It could have killed him."

"That incident was before I came." Madame sipped her tea stiffly. "I hardly think a ghost would have done it."

"Gossip is prone to exaggeration," He allowed, "but in this case I am inclined to believe rather than not. Perhaps you were there?" with a glance at Katrina.

"Yes. It was the opera ghost." She said simply, and buried her face in Tomino's ruff. "Pierre was bothering people, and couldn't sing."

"The second was probably considered the greater crime," the Daroga sighed. "Christine Daae and Raoul de Chagny were the last to know of this fellow's obsessions. The ghost is dead, and whoever imitates him is in dire danger. I intend to stop the cycle before madness sets in. If your children know anything at all, Madame D'Arcy, please send them to me. I only wish to help."

"What danger could they face? If it is someone playacting as you say, then there is no harm."

"Playacting has lead to a great deal of madness before. And this time I fear that the lure of a prize will bring hunters." He stood and bowed. "I thank you for the tea."

Katrina washed the dishes, thinking over what she had just heard.


	15. Chapter 15

15

Erik listened to his niece's account of the Dargoa's visit. The words struck a warning chord in his brain, and he handed her several slender lengths of rope and the tiny pistol that had once belonged to her mother.

"You must carry these at all times now, Katrina, do you understand?" She took them solemnly, her great eyes gazing into his face earnestly.

"What's wrong? He can't find you, can he?" Erik had told her of the Daroga before, and she knew perfectly well that the man would not let her uncle go a second time if he learned that the Phantom was still alive.

"No, child, no." Erik stroked her cheek gently. "But if he thinks there may be another looking, I do not doubt his word. I cannot follow you every moment and would not leave you unprotected. Keep these close," He said folding her fingers about the weapons, "and be ever watchful."

Her mind turned over the warning as she stowed the items in her dress the next morning. She knew that there were bad people, and that her uncle was not someone to talk about freely. The idea of hiding from a hunter went from a vague shadow to a very real event. She didn't doubt that the Daroga would believe her if she spoke of the ghost as he had the day before. Yet, she felt it was safest to say next to nothing about it.

When she arrived at Marie's apartments with Tomino in tow, Madame was busy making a list for all the needed items Christmas demanded. Helen was happily ignoring the endless flow of words as she drew an outline on a sheet of paper. Marie looked positively stormy and was demanding to know what was wrong with her current decorations.

"What decorations, dear?" Madame asked blandly. "Really, I can't imagine how a wreath and a poinsettia from the hot house constitute festive items."

Katrina shut the door, and pointed Tomino to the rug. Helen beamed at them, but stopped her work at the sight of the girl's pensive face. "What happened, Katrina? Is something wrong at home?"

"The Daroga came by yesterday to see you and Marie," she answered, going over to the plump woman's chair and leaning against the arm. "He said that someone was trying to hunt the Phantom of the Opera."

Hurriedly setting aside her art tools, Helen put the child in her lap, and smoothed back the wild hair. "He said this to you?"

"No, to me for the most part." Madame sniffed, and looked disapprovingly around the dressing room and adjoining bedroom. "I thought Katrina should stay to give him anything she knew or had heard."

"Mama, how could you!" Helen cried, torn between anger and concern. "Katrina's been upset by this, couldn't you see that?"

Marie went and knelt before her sister and the girl. "There is nothing to be afraid of, Katrina. If you ever wish to stay rather than walk home in the dark, no one will begrudge you a place here."

The brown eyes gazed into the green ones sadly. "I'm not afraid for me, I have this," she displayed the pistol briefly to the great shock of Madame. "I'm afraid for Uncle Erik. If something happens, I shall have to live without him forever." Having voiced that idea at last, she began to cry.

Marie had never seen the child afraid of anything, let alone weeping, and sat back with a sense of dread. Madame shook her head, and peered through her glasses. "I don't see what the fuss is about. This Phantom or ghost has nothing to do with us whatsoever."

Helen made a decision and turned to glare at her mother quite pointedly. "The Phantom is real, Mama. From what you were rambling about the whole night after you fell, you ought to believe in him too." Madame shifted uneasily and kept her eyes on the list before her. Helen went on, allowing a rare temper to take over. "I can't believe you are just sitting there, ignoring what Katrina is facing. She's afraid enough to carry a pistol around, does that signify nothing to you?"

Marie agreed. "It's not something to ignore, Mama,"

"Oh, I really don't see,"

"No, you haven't seen, and that's the trouble!" Helen snapped. "Erik _is_ the phantom, and Katrina will be without family should anything happen to him."

The soprano gazed blankly at her sister. "I think you've taken leave of your senses, Helen."

"No, I haven't. I think," She pated Katrina's back soothingly. "I think Katrina should have him come and talk to us. If only to teach mother to curb her tongue and stay out of things she doesn't understand!"

"Helen!" Madame cried, surprised by the curt tone in her daughter's voice.

"It's true; you were just too interested to pass up a chance to pry." Helen stated emphatically. "Katrina, go get your uncle, and tell him I'm asking, not demanding. I do think, however, it would do us good to have everything out in the open." She glared defiantly at the other two women, daring them to disagree.

When no one said anything else, Katrina slid down and went to the mirror, pushing on the side carefully. As it opened, she stepped through, and it shut behind her. Madame reached for her smelling salts, and sniffed deeply.

"What I have gone through on this visit!"

"You've earned every moment." Helen remarked flatly.

It was some time before Marie stopped staring at the mirror, and returned to her breakfast. Perhaps an hour latter there was a knock at the door. Puzzled, Helen answered, to reveal Katrina holding a thin man's hand and an earnest look in her eyes.

The man tilted his covered head, and stepped in quickly. "Katrina has told me what is passing here." The voice was soft, but carried perfectly. "What do you want of me?"

The voice struck terror into Madame, and she leaned back in her chair as if that would remove her from his presence. "You! You are death!"

"You would have met death had I come along that night, Madame D'Arcy." He said warningly. "I can guarantee that fate as well as prevent it."

Helen wrung her hands. "Katrina says that there may be someone after you. What can we do?"

"Say nothing and be vigilant for Katrina." He said simply. "I dwell where none go, but she cannot be so easily hidden." There was a wry tone to the statement, as if he had tried and failed to hide the girl.

Marie was shaken, but being a performer held herself in control and pointed towards a chair near the fire. "Would you care to sit, Monsieur?"

He nodded, and took the seat and Katrina clambered into his lap. Tomino sniffed the black shoe and grunted mildly. It seemed so strange to see the child with the fabled uncle, Marie wondered if she were dreaming. The man spoke slowly, so they could absorb what he was saying.

"The Daroga was acquainted with me when I was in India. He came here when…when the business with Christine happened." He rubbed Katrina's hair in his gloved fingers absently. "Not long after there was an article stating I had died, so I believed I would. Die of love for Christine. Without her, I had no reason to continue, for I have had few things worth doing in my life. Before the add reached far, however, I received a letter from my sister's child." Katrina turned her eyes up to his face, and listened intently. "This is now my new Christine, the new reason for life."

It was a simple statement, but clearly one Katrina had never considered. Her brows knitted in thought, and she studied her hands while her brain worked. The Phantom rested his own hand on her head, and continued in a more genial strain.

"The Persian thinks I am dead, and believes someone is pretending to be the opera ghost. Yet, he clearly has reason to think someone is stalking the ghost. It is better if he continues in the idea I am no more, and does not know Katrina is connected to me. Only then can I be certain of whom might be after our happiness."

Madame had clearly been silent long enough, and stood to come closer. Thinking better of it, she sat on the divan, and tapped her cane. "What makes you think we are obligated to keep this a secret?"

"A fair point, but you forget who I am." Erik said coolly. "So long as you act in the interest of my niece, I will act in yours. That much I can promise."

"And how can we reach you?" Helen asked, "What if something should go amiss?" Her adventurous spirit began rising at the prospect of a grand game of cloak and dagger. Erik considered her for a moment before answering.

"Katrina will show you." He stood, setting the child on her feet. "I have things to attend to. Au revoir."

With that, he vanished through the mirror.


	16. Chapter 16

16

Erik was awakened by a small being jumping up and down on his bed on Christmas morning. Katrina stopped when he began to move, and dropped to her knees beside him.

"Merry Christmas, Uncle, Merry Christmas!" She whispered, feeling that perhaps it hadn't been right to wake him.

He smiled, a relaxing of the yellow lips around the teeth, and sat up to find Tomino across his legs. The pup received a frown, and a none to gentle push. "Good morning, Katrina. Come," He held the bedding back to allow her crawl in beside him, and cuddle against his side. One of the results of his deformity was an elevated body temperature, giving off the impression of an eternal fever. On these winter days when the cold seeped into the house on lake, it was a welcome item.

They had exchanged gifts the night before, he giving Katrina several new books and the score for the Magic Flute. For him, she had found some staff paper with the lines already drawn and had managed to make an embroidered muffler with Helen and Marie's help. Madame found the whole thing disturbing, but knew there was nothing in heaven or hell that would change it.

After she had nestled in, he reached to the stand beside his bed and picked up one of the new Christmas books and they read aloud until it was time to get ready for the church service. As they stepped out in the cold air, other people on their way to the holiday service joined them. Everyone was rosy faced and laughing happily. A few wore reverent expressions, and some children threw snowballs at each other. Katrina's eyes glowed with wonder and for a moment forgot herself in the lights and sounds. Erik kept a firm hold on her mittened hand, sure she would not hesitate to run off should the urge take her.

The church was not full, but the greenery, the quiet music and the hush of renewed joy that stuffed every heart did the weary man's soul good. He had continued the practice of church to humor his dead sister, and also hoped it would fill a deficit in Katrina that he often felt in himself.

For some reason that Christmas day, he knew that it was not the attendance that had taken root in the girl's heart, but what she had learned from her attention to the lessons taught there. It was an aspect he had never considered before. Watching her in the light of the candles as she studied the elderly organist, he felt that perhaps there was more to eternity than heaven and hell, and that perhaps there was a future for such a thing as he.

Unnoticed behind them, the Daroga and Darius entered and sat down. They had come because there was nothing else to do, and the opera was empty of people. The Persian noticed the girl beside the gentleman, and presumed it was the uncle she had been rumored to live with. She was something of an enigma to the opera as a whole. Darius could only see that his master was not gleaning the peace of the day and sighed resignedly.

The crowd left quickly, the prospect of large dinners or the need to be at a master's house to serve the dinner hurrying their steps. Katrina bounced beside Erik, trying to step in an even line to leave as much snow undisturbed as possible. He paused in the park to allow her to dive into the drifts, and considered the possibility of colds and coughs. A laugh behind him caused him to turn and find Helen D'Arcy watching in high amusement. It had been two weeks since their last meeting.

"She's not still for very long, is she?"

"Not unless there is music or books." He replied. "I believe I should wish you a Merry Christmas, mademoiselle."

"And I wish one to you too, monsieur." Helen examined the child running amok in the snow. "Would you care to join us for dinner?"

"I do not think that would be appropriate. But thank you."

She shrugged and smiled. "It is we who owe you thanks for helping Mama when she fell. Ah well, come if you change your mind, you are welcome."

He returned his own gaze to Katrina, whose hair was completely coated in little balls of ice. She was alternating between making snow angels and spinning down a slick sledding trail. "To you, who have made an agreement with my niece perhaps. But I think your mother and sister would require persuasion on the subject."

Helen smiled and shook her head, but made no further comment on the matter. "Were you just coming from church?"

"Yes."

"I would not have expected that. You do not seem the sort to darken the doors of a religious edifice."

Still he did not look at her as he answered, "I do it for Katrina's sake. It is what her mother would have wanted."

"Were you and your sister close?"

"No."

Katrina came running back at that moment, catapulting into her uncle's legs. Her shining eyes met Helen's excitedly. "Merry Christmas!" She gasped, before sitting down dizzily.

"Merry Christmas, Katrina. We will see you in a few days, yes?"

"Yes, mademoiselle." She blinked owlishly around her, and pressed her mittens to the ground in an attempt to steady herself. Erik picked her up, and walked away.

Helen smiled to herself as she watched. The painfully thin man bundled so no part of him could be seen, and the charming little girl, flushed from her exertions in the cold, waving over his shoulder as they went home.

Walking back to the opera, Helen was thoughtful. It was not her customary state, and soon she was as caught up in the spirit of the holiday as Katrina had been.

For dinner Erik and Katrina had roast goose, with pudding, bread and canned peaches. After the feast, Erik played and sang, Katrina joining in, cheerfully unaware of how strange a picture it made. Christmas songs from all the ages flowed from the piano and voices, with a few Erik had written. Afterwards was a large tea involving a chocolate biscuit cake as well as honey dipped nuts. When everything had been put right and Katrina dressed in her warm nightdress, Erik read again from the new book, stroking her hair fondly.

When she went to bed, he went to arrange the covers over her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. "God bless you, Uncle Erik. I love you."

"I love you too, Katrina." He said softly, kissing her forehead. It was so good to kiss someone's forehead, and not have them consider drawing away.

That night, Helen pulled out her disused oils and a canvas. While Marie and Madame played cribbage, Helen painted. Before the darkness grew close, she had nearly finished. With a smile, she walked across the room to survey the work. It was of a winterscape in the park by the church, a man carrying a little girl walking away through Paris as the child waved blissfully over his shoulder.

"It's one of your best pieces, dear." Madame D'Arcy commented, looking up from her cards.

"Yes, I think it has something my others missed."

Marie frowned, trying to remember how her sets counted. "What's that?"

Helen looked at the canvas in the firelight and felt herself begin to frown. "I don't know. I really don't"


	17. Chapter 17

17

The Masquerade was in a few days, and Katrina was nearly as delirious over it as she had been over Christmas. She was surprised when the D'Arcy family decided to go as the three goddesses who desired the golden apple; Beauty, Knowledge, and Power.

Helen was laughing her head off about it. "Mama is Knowledge, and Marie is Beauty, of course."

"Hardly," Marie remarked, her ridged frame, wide mouth, and bright red hair had always been sore points with her. "But I'm stuck with the role for an evening and a half."

"I find knowledge suits me quite perfectly," Madame said with a twinkle in her eye. "According to my daughters, I enjoy finding out things."

Katrina listened, the dress she was sewing on forgotten in her lap. "What does that make you, Helen?"

Before Marie could explain just what that made Helen, the younger sister replied, "I'm Power, my dear!" And flexed her arms to prove it. Katrina started giggling when Marie gripped the arms and shook her head.

"If that's all you are, Helen, perhaps you were right to refuse marriage completely."

This earned her a stern cuff from Power, which Beauty returned eagerly. Knowledge instantly began pounding her cane on the carpet. "Girls, girls! Really, you ought to behave better, and in front of the help."

Helen shook her head and sat down on the floor with Katrina. "What are you going as?"

"Uncle Erik won't let me have his Red Death mask; he said it would cause a riot." Katrina sounded disappointed, and Helen struggled to keep a straight face. "But I'm _not_ going as a princess."

"You could go as a truffle," Madame said, eyeing the multihued, leftover bits of fabric that littered the apartment.

"Oh, Mama, really." Marie chided.

Helen looked around and her face lit up. "How about a gypsy then? We have scads of things to make it with. Surely Uncle Erik wouldn't say that would cause a riot?"

"No, he never mentioned gypsies. Just spirits of all kinds and the Red Death."

As soon as the current dress was finished, the sisters placed Katrina on a stool and wrapped her torso and hips in green-blue fabric, which was then cut and sewn to fit. All sorts of ruffles from red to pale pink with black in between were pinned together and checked for measurements. These formed the main skirt. To this was attached a small train of more blue-green, and somehow beads and ribbons were added to give it a wild look.

The poor child was quite confused at this sort of attention, having always had clothes ordered ready-made from shops. If it didn't fit, Erik had her fix it herself with the aid of her mother's sewing kit and book. With Christine, he had tried to be sure of the fit, but with his niece he viewed it as good practice. As a result she could sew nearly anything, but becoming the dress dummy was rather disconcerting.

Marie took off the gypsy dress at last to make the adjustments, and Helen handed Katrina the leftover beads to sting for a necklace while she made a headdress to match the costume.

"Is that what they do to you when they make your new outfits for the opera?" Katrina asked after a moment.

"Yes," Marie said, "why?"

"I didn't realize it was so dreadful. Do you never say ouch when they poke you?"

"Oh, dear, did we poke you?" Helen asked in concern, half expecting to see blood.

"Not very much. But surely it happens to Mademoiselle Marie."

Marie smiled thinly. "Sometimes, but I've grown used to it, I suppose."

They worked in silence for a while, before Madame cleared her throat. "Will your uncle be coming to the festivities?"

Katrina shrugged, eyes working over the lines of beads. The women's eyes met thoughtfully over her head. There really was nothing more to add, or ask on the subject, but it was a looming elephant among them.

The days went by quickly, and Katrina was completely distracted the day of the party. She couldn't hold still long enough for Helen to do the buttons properly, and it took three tries to get it right.

Katrina studied herself in the mirror, bouncing up and down. "I get to stay up all night! Oh thank you all!" she charged Helen, then Marie with hugs and started for Madame, but the old dame held up a hand.

"Gently, child, I'm not a stuffed cushion."

Katrina gave her a peck on the cheek, and spun around and around watching the fabric billow out. She stopped and sat down heavily, waiting for the room to still. Marie was looking at the wall, trying not to laugh, Madame was muttering something about behavior, and Helen was just howling.

"Dizzy, darling?" She asked, helping the girl up.

Nodding, Katrina stood, and looked around. "Can I go show Uncle Erik?"

Marie gave her assent, and the child opened the mirror, and disappeared.

She knew her way through the dark, and took it as quickly as she could, arriving at the house out of breath. She found her uncle reading a score, and stood there until he noticed her.

"Turn around," he ordered, and she did so. Several times.

"It's nice, isn't it?" She asked. He took her hand, and drew her close to his side.

"It is, child. Your parents would be proud of you. Tell the D'Arcy women thank you from me. And for heaven's sake, behave yourself tonight! I don't need to come pay for damages to the statues!"

With a kiss to his cheek, and a whistle to her dog, she took off, leaving him to ponder in silence.

The Ball was full of color, people, sound, food, and smells crushed together. Katrina spent the early part of the evening learning steps from one of the new gentlemen in the ballet corps. Soon, however, the adults became tipsy, and she found a corner to hide in and teach Tomino to fetch shrimps.

After a while, she wandered outside, the pup following, and she paused before the building to look back at all the lights and listen to the sounds coming in gentle waves to her ears. Snow was falling lightly, catching on her ruffles, in her wild hair, and on Tomino's fur. She buried her fingers in his warm ruff, and watched the lights flicker, and the shadow of people moving back and forth.

A step behind her made her turn, and there she saw Erik, draped in his cape, and holding his stick in the crook of his arm. Picking her up, he wrapped the deliciously warm folds around her, and walked slowly back towards their home. She linked her arms around his bony neck, and rested her head on his shoulder so she could look behind them as they went. Tomino shuffled along beside them, worn out himself.

"I forgot to tell Mademoiselle I was going outside."

"I passed Helen on my way here, she knows."

Nothing more was said between them as the new year slipped quietly into Paris.

_**So sorry it took so long for this, life happens all at once it seems. **_


	18. Chapter 18

18

Marie stepped out of the carriage and eyed the opera house. It had been over seven months since she had left it to tour, and it was with mixed emotions she returned.

About five weeks after the masquerade, she had made the decision to travel in the off season, and wanted Katrina to come along as maid. Helen went completely pale at the suggestion, and started to shake. She had heard what the Phantom had done over Christine, whose affections he had no certainty of. What would he do to Marie, to all of them, if Katrina were taken?

"Oh, Marie, you have no idea what you're asking! You just can't!"

Madame D'Arcy had, for once, seemed of the same mind. "You can't drag her all over the globe, catching heaven knows what! Marie, do be sensible!"

That was when Helen did something she desperately disliked. She went on her first official visit to Erik. Katrina had schooled her in a simple route to the House on the Lake, and she took it as firmly as she could. She kept her hand at eye level, which aided in shedding the light of the lantern before her feet. The way led in through the back of the house, and she knocked out of habit rather than courtesy before entering.

She found Erik standing near the organ, looking somewhat puzzled at her arrival, if she read his face right. Helen found him difficult to look at, let alone comprehend what his expression was.

"Since you have come alone, I think there is something amiss." He pointed to a chair, which she took gratefully. "I trust it is not Katrina?"

"No, well not exactly, she's not hurt."

He perched on the organ bench, and waited silently.

As soon as she had her breath back, Helen explained her sister's plan. "Nothing," she finished, "Has been said to Katrina herself yet. I thought perhaps you would want a say in it before Marie turned her head. We all love the child, but I feared that…well, she is your niece, not ours."

"You feared I would be angry." He answered. "Tell me, would you be going?"

"Not that I had planned. In reality, I don't plan very far ahead, Monsieur. A tour is beyond me."

He turned his back on her and picked up a stack of music, written in red and black ink. The scrawled notes where clearly in his own distinctive hand and the papers were covered with them. He began to play, a low, haunting melody that had gentle notes soaring above it. Clearly intended for more than one instrument, he managed it perfectly on the ponderous organ. "She most certainly would be with your sister, and no one else?"

"Not to my understanding." Helen said, transfixed by the sight of those knotted, yellow, and emaciated hands moving almost lazily over the keys. His feet moved so naturally over the pedals, that had she not be near, she would not have noticed them lifting and dropping.

The sound stopped, and it felt like something had been pulled out of her very soul. The absence of the music was an almost physical pain.

"In this, I am inclined to agree with you and your mother. Katrina is but eight years old, and a strange child even to my mind. Yet, I cannot hold her here forever. No, I will not err with her as I did with Christine. My niece's soul is truly the fairer one, but even it will not survive on music alone. She must learn to be outside, in the sun, among others. If your sister will vow to never lose sight of her, and to write me every week as to the child's welfare and spirit, I will let Katrina go. But this will be the only time; never again will I consent to her going on a tour, which must be made clear."

Helen was dumbstruck, "You are certain? You will send her away?"

"No!" The voice thundered. "I will never 'send her away' unless her life depends on it. I am allowing her to accompany your sister on one tour, so that she can understand something of the outside world. I will not live forever; I must take steps now to teach her to survive without me."

The woman sat back, quite shocked. "To be honest, I half expected you to plaster over the doors and vanish."

A sneer crossed his face. "And I never thought you would come alone. But, Katrina does something to those she looks at. They never seem the same again."

"It seems to be a family trait," Helen quipped.

"Take care; once a woman sees me without a mask, she belongs to me." He said wearily, though no doubt the warning was serious. "The day may come when I summon you."

So, Marie had left, Katrina in tow. Helen joined them for the first few cities, helping Katrina keep a journal of the places and people she saw. The sisters took care to write detailed letters to the uncle, which the child enclosed with her own.

Madame wrote her daughters for a couple of months, the usual letters full of orders, gossip, and prying questions. After that, her correspondence became infrequent, and somewhat vague in nature. Marie was inclined to pass it off as the fault of the neighbor, but Helen had other suspicions she dared not voice, and wrote nothing of it when she returned home.

To a child, tours can be magical, albeit, endless. Katrina adapted well, although Helen would find her scrubbing her eyes, and saying it was only the bright lights, or perhaps sleeping with Erik's letters instead of a pillow. If Marie saw these signs, she said nothing. Tomino had to be left behind, and the absence of beloved guardian and the pup together made her more introspective than usual.

The tour had been a success, garnering support for the Paris Opera in the next season. Marie had little to regret as she looked on the somber grey stones. Yet, there was always that feeling of a shadow one couldn't shake.

Katrina had no such qualms. She had tumbled out after her mistress, and grabbed her bags by any strap that was closest. "May I go home, Mademoiselle? Do you need me anymore today?"

At the sight of those eager, anxious brown eyes, Marie couldn't help but smile. "Go, go. I'll have Jacques send someone to help me. You've been waiting very patiently, and I can't bear to hold you up any longer."

The girl needed no second bidding. She tore off, around the corner of the opera, a flurry of wild hair and skirts.

Marie watched impassively as the workers set her things back in the dressing room. One of them handed her a message from her mother as they left. It simply asked her to come for tea, and refusal was not an option.

Wearily, she began unpacking, and only glanced up as Jacques walked in. "I am surprised you waited this long to come say hello." She said coolly.

He leaned against the dresser, and crossed his arms. "I was glad you consented, but surprised. May I ask the reason?"

"We are alike; we have no reason to stay off any longer. My life has been the theater, always. It is time I added something else."

"You do not distrust my motives?"

"On the contrary, I think yours are the best I have met for years. If it becomes an issue, I will simply quit. Oh, don't look at me like that! You know as well as I do that tours every year and the occasional appearance will more that make up for the loss of my voice in your opera."

The manager thought for a moment. "You are sure of this? I do not mind, little will change for me either way. It is for your sake and sanity I insist you reconsider as many times as is needed. There is no rush, and it will not be made public without your consent."

Marie straightened herself and crossed her arms. The yellow travel dress complemented her red hair, and the trip had brought some girlish color back into her slender face. Jacques thought she looked regally imposing, though he wished she would smile more often.

"I assure you, I have considered. I will not change my mind. Tell the world, it will be good for the opening of the season."

"This is not a business arrangement!"

"Who else will see it that way? Your precious Phantom?" She dropped her hands and sighed. "I have had much time to consider, and I no longer care what people think. It is time for me to behave more like a woman, and less like a stubborn schoolgirl who thinks she has something to prove."

Jacques stood and nodded. "Very well. I shall write the necessary papers, and trouble you as little as possible with it. In the desk you will find the list of roles for this season. You know where to find me if you have any questions."

He turned; shoving his hands into his pockets, then stopped and went back to Marie. "I nearly forgot, this is for you." Pressing a little box into her hand, he gave her fingers a squeeze and left.

Marie sat down and held the box numbly for a long time. She remembered tea, and hurried to get to her mother's house in time. She noticed the gentleman neighbor sitting on his step, clearly enjoying the day, and having no concern whatsoever with anyone around him.

Tea was ready and set out when Marie walked in. She noticed Helen and Madame sitting somberly and gazing at the teapot.

"Have I kept you waiting?"

Madame jumped a little, but shook her head. "No, my girl. We weren't sure what time you would even be able to pull away. Sit down, and tell us how the last part of your trip fared."

Marie shrugged and started pulling her gloves off slowly. "It went much like the part Helen attended. Katrina couldn't wait to get home, so I gave her the day off. I'm assuming this little tête-à-tête has a purpose behind it?"

Helen dropped her sugar cubes meticulously into her cup. "Just some news…but you wrote me that you had some news of your own. Tell us yours first."

The singer leaned back and held up her left hand. A simple ring with three pale stones caught the light. "I have agreed to marry Jacques. You will both be able to see more of me now."

The three of them sat in silence for a few minutes before anyone moved.

Madame cleared her throat. "Are you sure about this Marie? He hardly seems exciting enough, and rather spacious in the head, though I've no other objections to him."

"I am quite sure. I have had the exciting and brilliant offers, but that was part of their fault. Jacques makes no pretensions about himself, as superficial as he can be. It is time I changed myself."

Helen set her cup down and took her sisters hands. For once, she wasn't laughing. "But are you sure, Marie, really, really sure?"

The older sister smiled gently. "A very wise woman once said to me, 'Sometimes, you can't wait for the heart to make up its mind. You must use your head and decide for it. You cast your dice.' I decided to take her advice for once." Shaking off the mood, Marie asked, "Now, what news did you all have."

The others exchanged glances, and Helen shook her head. "Tomorrow. I'd much rather go to Marcel's for that splendid chocolate cake and wonderful champagne! After all, you're home safe and you've just gotten engaged! Mama, we'll have to plan, oh dear heaven's what are we to do?"

Madame shook her head darkly. "There are times I think you are more of a child than Katrina, Helen


End file.
